CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAQB 

I.  PHILIP  REPORTS  FOR  WORK  ...          1 

II.  HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME      .   10 

III.  THE  CHILDREN  OP  THE  SCHEME    .        .        33 

IV.  THE  WATER'S  GECKING     .        .        .        .57 
V.  A  CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS        ...        80 

VI.   CAPITALISTS  IN  THE  CANON       .  .97 

VII.  A  DIFFERENCE  OF  TASTE  IN  JOKES      .      112 

VIII.   ALAN'S  ORDERS 121 

IX.  THE  OUBLIETTE 129 

X.   THE  WHITE  CROSS 143 

XI.  A  TOUCH  OF  NATURE     ....      152 
XII.  OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES        .        .  172 

XIII.  A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET     .        .        .      190 

XIV.  ANOTHER  BREAK  IN  THE  HOUSEHOLD      .  213 
XV.  AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOR         .        .        .221 

XVI.  DUNSMUIR'S  PRICE      ...  .232 

XVII.  A  DISINGENUOUS  DEFENSE     .        .        .      251 

XVIII.  A  BROKEN  TOOL 264 

XIX.  THE  IRONY  OF  SUCCESS  ....  285 
XX.  THE  WATERS  GATHER  ....  293 

XXI.  DUNSMUIR'S  DAM  .        .        .307 


297222 


THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 


I. 

PHILIP    REPORTS    FOR    WORK. 


"  WHAT  is  it  that  you  tope  «to  do  o,ver 
there?  What  is  the  most  yi>u  have  pri>m-; 
ised  yourself?  "  ,  •:  :  .'  ;  ,  '•  ,  .7  ,*. 

"  Why  do  we  always  say  '  over  there  '  ? 
Is  n't  it  time,  if  only  as  a  courtesy,  we  began 
to  call  it  home?" 

"  Should  I  be  at  home  —  on  the  desert 
plains?" 

"You  might  concede  something  to  the 
fact  that  you  will  soon  have  a  husband  and 
a  son  there." 

"  I  might  concede  everything  and  go  my 
self  !  But  then  there  would  be  one  reason 
less,  though  a  poor  one,  I  admit,  for  your 
coming  back.  No;  you  need  not  remind 
me,  Philip,  that  I  have  nothing  left." 

Mrs.    Norrisson   was    a    pretty,   spoiled 


2  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

mother ;  one  that  should  have  died  young 
and  lived  in  the  memory  of  her  charm. 
She  could  argue,  very  logically,  from  her 
own  predispositions,  but  she  failed  in  that 
logic  of  the  heart  which  enables  a  woman  to 
feel  another's  reasons.  Nothing  could  have 
convinced  her,  now,  that  she  had  not  a  bit 
ter  cause,  as  the  sorrows  of  women  go,  even 
with  one  who  sends  a  son  into  battle  or  gives 
him  up  to  a  fatal  choice  in  marriage.  Yet 
all  her  grief  was  that  her  son  had  chosen  a 
profession,  whk-b  she  called  narrow,  and 
elected  to  practice  it  in  his,  in  their,  native 
West:;  wnile  PhrlJp's /culpability  lay  in  that 
he  had  not  revealed  to  her  this  purpose  as  it 
grew.  There  had  been  the  natural  affection, 
but  never  a  perfect  understanding,  between 
them.  If  Mrs.  Norrisson  had  guessed  this 
fact  before,  she  knew  it  now,  passionately 
declaring  there  is  no  mystery  in  life  like  the 
being  one  calls  one's  child. 

Mr.  Price  Norrisson  had  married  his  wife 
just  "  off  the  range,"  as  they  say  in  the  cat 
tle  countries ;  sixteen,  and  the  most  beauti 
ful  girl  he  had  ever  met;  mixed  blood,  of 
course.  The  marriage  was  pronounced,  in 
the  language  of  his  set,  "a  good  gamble." 
In  the  course  of  her  subsequent  remarkable 


PHILIP  REPORTS  FOR   WORK.  3 

social  progress  Mrs.  Norrisson  had  left  the 
range  far  behind.  The  fields  in  which  she 
sought  distinction  lay  to  the  east ;  and  here 
she  would  have  detained  her  son,  but  that 
some  reactionary  sentiment  in  the  young 
man  called  him  back. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Norrisson  had  been  much 
apart  since  the  experiment  of  their  marriage 
began,  —  he,  frankly  in  pursuit  of  money  ; 
she,  of  the  most  enlightened  ways  of  spend 
ing  it,  —  and  Philip  had  idealized  the  parent 
he  saw  least  of.  He  was  prouder  of  his 
father's  summons,  in  the  name  of  his  Work, 
than  a  young-  cadet  of  his  first  commission 
in  the  service  of  his  country  ;  but  how  com 
mend  this  enthusiasm  to  a  woman  profess 
edly  weary  of  both  husband  and  country? 

"  I  am  looking  for  an  engineer,"  his  fa 
ther's  letter  ran,  "  with  about  what  I  take 
your  qualification  to  be,  to  go  on  big  irriga 
tion  work,  —  an  extension  of  our  present 
system  near  the  town  of  Norrisson.  Don't 
you  think  you  had  better  come  and  see  what 
you  can  make  of  it  over  here  ?  I  shall  have 
use  for  all  your  science,  —  you  should  have 
got  considerable  by  now,  —  and  I  can  £ive 
you  the  practical  experience  no  engineer,  no 
American  engineer,  can  afford  to  dispense 


4  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

with.  Cable  me  your  answer  directly.  The 
place  can't  wait." 

Mrs.  Norrisson  held  this  letter,  folding  it 
and  pinching  it  small,  in  her  delicate,  but  not 
generous  hands. 

"  What  does  he  want  with  an  engineer  ?  " 
she  demanded.  "  A  county  surveyor  is  all 
they  need  to  build  what  they  call  their 
'  ditches.'  They  are  always  working  against 
time,  and  the  quality  of  the  work  is  quite  a 
second  matter.  Take  my  word,  Philip,  your 
methods  will  not  suit  your  father.  He  values 
nothing  but  time.  He  is  what  they  call  a 
driver." 

"That,  quite  possibly,  is  what  I  need," 
Philip  answered  with  provoking  humility : 
"  to  learn  something  of  that  drive,  which  has 
done  so  much  over  there." 

"  So  much  and  so  badly,"  the  fair  rene 
gade  retorted.  "  I  don't  deny  they  have 
pluck  ;  but  look  at  their  chances,  in  a  new 
country  where  they  are  first  in  the  field ! 
You  'd  think  they  might  afford  at  least  to  be 
honest.  But  they  have  the  courage  of  their 
opportunities.  Take  the  history  of  their 
continental  railroads,  for  example.  But 
granting  you  can  keep  out  of  all  that,  what 
sort  of  a  school  is  it  for  a  young  man  who 


PHILIP  REPORTS  FOR  WORK.  5 

has  n't  finished  his  education  ?  Your  father 
built  a  ditch  over  there  —  the  one  that  has 
made  Norrisson  —  not  only  without  consult 
ing  a  single  engineer  of  reputation,  but  ac 
tually  in  defiance  of  a  very  able  one,  a  sort 
of  partner  of  his.  He  stood  in  his  way,  and 
your  father  got  rid  of  him,  because  he  had  a 
conscience  about  his  work.  You  need  not 
look  at  me,  my  dear,  as  if  I  were  talking 
scandal.  He  will  tell  you  the  story  himself. 
He  glories  in  succeeding  in  just  that  illogi 
cal,  immoral  way.  It  is  the  triumph  of 
makeshift.  That  is  his  school  of  '  practical 
experience.'  They  say  the  country  drives 
them,  and  they  have  to  keep  the  pace,  some 
how,  or  'get  left.'  I  don't  go  into  the 
philosophy  of  it.  I  'm  only  speaking  of  its 
effects.  You  can  see  them  in  me.  I  was 
bred  in  that  same  school ;  I  got  on  famously ; 
I  could  do  anything  I  pleased,  up  to  a  certain 
point.  There  I  stopped.  There  I  have 
stopped  for  want  of  thoroughness  in  the 
beginning.  I  hoped  you  would  be  a  school 
boy  till  you  were  twenty-five,  then  take  five 
years  for  travel.  By  that  time  you  would 
have  been  something  more  than  an  '  Ameri 
can  engineer.'  I  meant  that  my  son  should 
be  a  citizen  of  the  world,  not  a  local  man  in 
a  profession  half  learned," 


6  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  '11  come  back,  my  dear  mother ;  but  a 
man  must  choose  his  field.  It  strikes  me 
the  field  for  Americans  is  America ;  and  if 
the  conditions  are  so  different,  the  sooner  I 
get  over  there  and  learn  them,  the  better." 

"  Who,  then,  are  the  Americans  ?  Are 
you  an  American?  If  you  are,  you  get 
precious  little  of  it  from  me.  My  father 
was  an  Englishman,  my  grandmother  was  a 
Spanish  Creole,  —  a  Californian  I  suppose 
you  would  call  her.  Why  should  n't  we 
revert,  through  these  ties  in  our  blood,  to 
the  people  we  come  from,  —  who  had  some 
thing  that  could  be  called  race  ?  I  am 
convinced  it  is  the  homesickness  of  genera 
tions  that  stirs  in  me,  whenever  I  fancy 
myself  back  in  that  ugly,  raw,  indiscriminate 
region  you  ask  me  to  call  home.  I  may  be 
homeless,  but  that  is  not  my  home." 

"  Has  it  ever  been  suggested  that  you 
should  call  the  desert  plains  your  home  ? 
Come,  at  least,  as  far  as  San  Francisco." 

"  I  might  as  well  be  in  London,  so  far  as 
the  society  of  my  husband  and  son  is  con 
cerned." 

"  Well,  not  quite." 

"  The  difference  in  miles  does  n't  begin  to 
make  up  for  the  difference  in  point  of 


PHILIP  REPORTS  FOR   WORK.  7 

residence.  But  it  's  not  a  question  of  my 
going  back ;  whether  I  go  or  stay,  my  tastes, 
my  principles,  are  the  same.  But  for  you  it 
will  be  the  turning-point.  I  am  sure  that 
you  will  commit  yourself  to  something  piti 
able  before  the  year  is  out  ;  probably  to 
staying  there  forever.  There  's  a  fascination 
about  the  life,  as  there  is  about  the  first  stage 
of  every  return  to  barbarism.  When  the 
rope  begins  to  strain,  it  's  a  temptation  to 
reverse  the  wheel ;  but  is  it  worth  while  to 
send  the  bucket  to  the  bottom  again,  after 
so  many  turns  have  brought  it  nearly  to  the 
top  ?  No ;  you  are  making  a  distinct  step 
backward.  A  man,  I  have  always  insisted, 
should  go  east  for  his  education,  his  accent, 
and  his  wife.  He  may  go  west  for  his  for 
tune,  perhaps  ;  but  you  do  not  need  a  for 
tune,  Philip." 

The  last  word  was  a  plea.  But  Philip 
could  not  forego  his  retort. 

"  Because  my  father  has  made  one  for  me  ? 
Is  that  a  reason  I  should  spend  my  life  in 
Europe,  posing  as  a  citizen  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  Ah,  if  you  are  posing  !  I  thought  you 
were  doing  something  more  sincere.  But 
now  I  see  you  have  never  been  that.  You 
have  taken  the  way  of  all  men  with  all 


8  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

women  ;  flattering  them,  conceding  every 
thing  till  the  moment  of  discovery.  And 
then  they  ask  why  it  is  a  woman  must  always 
make  a  scene  !  —  Well,  go  and  be  '  foot-loose,' 
as  they  say  over  there !  But  don't  get 
beaten,  and  don't  '  get  left.'  For  if  you  do, 
your  father  will  lay  it  all  to  Europe  and 
to  me." 

Philip  cabled  that  he  would  report  at  the 
company's  office  in  New  York,  at  once,  where 
he  hoped  for  further  orders.  He  knew  that 
there  was  such  a  town  as  Norrisson,  a  me 
tropolis  of  the  desert  plains,  named  for  his 
father,  who  had  been  the  Moses  of  emigra 
tion  thither,  even  to  the  smiting  of  the  dry 
hills  to  furnish  forth  water  for  the  reclama 
tion  of  the  land.  But  where  lay  this  field 
for  practical  experience,  in  what  precise 
quarter  of  his  big,  native  West,  he  was  as 
ignorant  as  if  he  had  been  born  a  cockney. 
He  had  a  mixed  idea  that  the  people  of 
Norrisson  lived  in  semi-subterranean  dwell 
ings  called  dugouts  ;  that  their  only  fuel  was 
sage-brush  ;  that  their  sons  herded  cattle  ; 
and  their  daughters,  phenomenally  pretty 
and  ungrammatical,  ran  barefoot,  like  the 
sage-hens,  until  each  married  her  cowboy,  or 
successful  prospector,  and  became  a  board- 


PHILIP   REPORTS  FOR   WORK.  9 

ing-house  belle  in  San  Francisco.  These  im 
ages  were  mainly  derived  from  his  mother's 
generalizations,  —  she  was  a  sad  recreant 
to  have  been  born  under  the  Star  of  Empire, 
—  and  from  her  free  use  of  hyperbole  where 
her  feelings  were  involved.  She  had  a  sin 
gular  aversion  to  the  West,  and  when  she 
talked  of  her  girlhood  there,  —  a  time  of  un 
imaginable  freedom,  by  her  own  account,  —  it 
was  with  a  bitterness  Philip  could  only  marvel 
at,  seeing  that  even  her  distorted  descrip 
tions  conveyed,  in  spite  of  herself,  a  picture 
that  interested  and  attracted  the  listener. 

He  began  his  journey  in  anything  but  a 
triumphant  humor.  He  was  preoccupied 
with  his  mother's  disappointment,  and  some 
of  her  arguments  stayed  with  him  after  the 
heat  of  contention  had  subsided.  A  half- 
doubt  of  his  own  choice  hampered  his  out 
look.  It  was  not  till  he  began  to  go  down 
the  long  continental  slope,  westward  from 
the  Port  Neuf,  far  west  of  the  great  divide, 
following  the  Snake  River  Valley,  and  towns 
and  farms  gave  way,  and  solitary  buttes 
stood  for  church  steeples,  and  dusty  corrals 
for  lawns  and  meadows,  that  he  saw  his  work 
before  him,  and  began  to  look  forward  in 
stead  of  back. 


II. 

HE    IS    INTRODUCED    TO     THE    SCHEME. 

MR.  PRICE  NORRISSON  was  at  breakfast, 
eating  his  first  course  of  iced  fruit  and  going 
through  a  pile  of  newspapers,  when  Philip 
made  his  appearance  on  the  morning  after 
his  arrival.  The  hours  of  his  father's  estab 
lishment  were  a  shock  to  his  system  :  he  had 
not  thought  of  breakfast  at  half  past  seven. 
Wong,  the  Chinese  butler,  in  a  white, 
starched  blouse,  the  sleeves  of  which  fell  to 
the  knuckles  of  his  tawny,  pointed  hands, 
was  making  coffee  in  a  Vienna  coffee-pot 
with  the  solemnity  of  a  priest  preparing  an 
oblation.  One  side  of  the  room  was  filled 
with  a  great  array  of  glass  and  china,  in  cup 
boards  built  into  the  wall ;  the  opposite  side 
was  devoted  chiefly  to  a  huge  painting  of  the 
Shoshone  Falls,  the  work  of  a  local  artist, 
after  a  photograph  by  Jackson  of  Denver,  — 
such  an  acquisition  as  the  bored  possessor 
sometimes  deprecates  by  explaining  that  he 
took  it  for  a  debt.  A  long  window  on  the 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.      11 

third  side,  divided  into  casements,  opened 
upon  a  grass  terrace  where  a  lawn-sprinkler 
flung  its  dazzling  mist  into  the  sunshine. 
Outside  there  was  a  humming  stillness,  a 
perfume  of  locust-blooms,  a  breeze  that  blew 
freshly  into  the  room,  whipping  the  silk 
sash-curtains  out  from  the  rods,  turning  up 
the  corners  of  Mr.  Norrisson's  newspaper, 
and  tumbling  the  yellow  roses  that  filled  a 
majolica  bowl  in  the  centre  of  the  table. 

"  You  're  about  four  inches  longer  than 
you  were  when  I  saw  you  last,"  said  Mr. 
Norrisson,  measuring  his  son  with  his  keen, 
appraising  glance.  "  Don't  run  to  fat  much  : 
queer  how  white  everybody  looks  who  's  just 
out  from  the  East.  You  ought  to  have  got 
a  Western  color  on  shipboard." 

In  the  next  five  minutes  he  had  asked 
Philip  a  number  of  questions,  rather  difficult 
to  answer,  about  his  mother.  "  She  's  still 
too  good  an  American,  I  suppose,  to  be 
happy  out  of  Europe  ?  " 

"  '  Where  it  is  well  with  me,  there  is  my 
country,'  is  her  creed  national,"  said  Philip, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  And  how  is  it  with  you  ?  Have  you  got 
outside  of  all  your  national  prejudices  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  home,"  said  Philip. 


12  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Good  enough  !  And  what  does  your 
mother  think  of  your  going  to  work  ?  " 

While  Philip  fumbled  in  his  memory  for 
a  speech  of  his  mother's  that  would  bear 
repetition,  Mr.  Norrisson  answered  the  ques 
tion  for  himself. 

"  Did  n't  expect  it,  of  course.  Well,  she 
has  been  running  your  education  for  quite 
a  while,  on  the  European  plan  ;  I  rather 
thought  it  was  my  turn  now.  And  when 
I  've  set  you  on  your  legs  it  will  be  your 
turn.  Then  you  can  go  back  if  you  want  to. 
But  I  guess  after  you  've  been  two  years  in 
the  West,  with  something  to  do,  you  won't 
want  to  go  back.  Let  me  see,  how  old  are 
you,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Twenty-three,  sir." 

"  You  don't  say !  It 's  a  fact.  You  were 
born  the  year  of  the  big  strike  on  the  Corn- 
stock." 

"  And  Phosa  must  be  forty  years  old  !  " 
was  the  thought  Mr.  Norrisson  did  not  utter. 
He  was  quite  used  to  thinking  of  himself  as 
a  man  of  fifty  odd,  with  a  chest-measure  that 
increased  rapidly  downward.  But  Phosa  a 
woman  of  forty  !  His  slender,  narrow-eyed, 
rose-mouthed  gypsy,  in  whom  he  had  forgiven 
everything  because  of  her  youth !  How 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     13 

could  she  endure  the  fact  herself  ?     The  re 
flection  made  him  feel  more  tenderly  toward 

her. 

Philip  took  from  his  letter-case  a  photo 
graph,  and  pushed  it  across  the  cloth.  Mr. 
Norrisson  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it,  fixedly, 
but  without  a  change  of  expression.  "  For 
me  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  If  you  like  it.  It  is  mine  only  because 
I  helped  myself  to  it.  My  mother  has  her 
picture  taken  every  now  and  then  ;  her 
journal  intime,  she  calls  the  collection.  But 
she  is  very  jealous  of  its  circulation." 

"  She  need  n't  be  afraid,  if  the  others  tell 
no  more  about  her  than  this  one.  /can't 
read  her  journal.  This  picture  does  n't  even 
tell  her  age." 

"  Neither  does  her  face." 
"  You  better  keep  it,"  said  Mr.  Norrisson, 
handing  back  the  card,  with  a  confirmed  sto 
ical  patience  in  the  last  look  he  gave  it. 
"  It  may  tell  you  more  than  it  does  me.  I 
presume  you  will  miss  her  a  good  deal. 
She  's  the  kind  of  woman  who  occupies  a 
man's  mind.  She  did  mine,  until  I  found  I 
couldn't  think  about  her  and  do  anything 
else.  I  don't  miss  her  so  much  as  I  used  to ; 
I  don't  let  myself." 


14  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Mr.  Norrisson  now  began  upon  the  second 
course  of  his  substantial  breakfast  —  trout 
from  the  hills,  served  in  a  wreath  of  cresses, 
with  curly  slivers  of  bacon,  and  potatoes 
hashed  with  cream.  Philip  was  breakfast 
ing  Continental  fashion,  his  father  eying  him 
disapprovingly. 

"  I  'm  going  to  take  you  down  the  line 
this  morning.  You  can't  ride  twenty  miles 
on  a  roll,  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  a  cigarette. 
Eat  something,  boy  !  You  don't  know  when 
you  '11  get  your  next  meal." 

Philip  fancied  that  this  prompt  call  for 
"  boots  and  saddles  "  might  be  somewhat  in 
the  nature  of  a  test,  and  was  careful  not  to 
keep  his  father  waiting,  though  the  horses 
were  brought  round  at  once  and  he  was  not 

O 

dressed  for  riding.  Mr.  Norrisson  glanced 
at  his  son's  trousers  and  faultless  foot-gear, 
and  ordered  a  servant  to  fit  him  with  a  pair 
of  spatterdashes.  His  "  narrow-gauge  "  hat 
was  exchanged  for  a  grass-cloth  helmet,  and 
they  set  forth. 

From  time  to  time,  as  they  rode  along,  the 
father  cast  an  eye  upon  his  son's  seat  in  the 
saddle.  At  length  he  spoke  of  it,  approv 
ing  Philip's  readiness  to  "  catch  on "  to 
the  American  way  of  riding.  Philip  dis- 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.      15 

claimed  the  compliment,  explaining,  with 
some  particularity  as  to  terms,  that  he  had 
been  taught  to  ride  in  the  French  school, 
which  had  certain  points  of  resemblance  to 
the  American,  notably  the  long  stirrup.  Mr. 
Norrisson  snorted  at  the  idea  of  a  resem 
blance  ;  he  said  that  the  Americans  had  no 
school. 

"  We  ride  because  we  want  to  get  there. 
A  horse  is  merely  an  extension  of  the  pow 
ers  of  a  man :  if  a  man  likes  to  make  a  show 
of  himself  he  can  do  it  better  on  a  horse 
than  on  the  ground ;  and  that,  I  take  it,  is 
the  fundamental  principle  of  the  haute  ecole 
in  riding." 

They  were  following  the  lower  bank  of  the 
irrigation-canal,  toward  the  head-works  on 
the  river.  The  stream  which  supplied  the 
canal  was  an  uncelebrated  tributary  of  the 
Snake  called  the  Wallula,  fed  by  melting 
snows  from  the  mountains,  and  now  at  the 
flood.  Every  long,  hot  day  set  the  river 
roaring,  with  added  volume,  at  night ;  and 
the  dry-plains  wind,  which  blows  strongest 
toward  morning,  like  the  terral  of  the  tro 
pics,  augmented  the  sound  of  its  booming, 
which  could  be  heard  for  miles,  and  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  distant  growl  of 


16  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

surf.  The  canal  was  carrying  to  its  full  ca 
pacity,  a  guard  of  men  watching  it  day  and 
night.  Mr.  Norrisson  pointed  out  to  his 
son  that  the  location  at  which  the  main  ditch 
had  been  taken  out  of  the  river  was  not  a 
particularly  good  one  ;  a  fact  which  Philip 
had  already  noted. 

"  That  ditch  had  to  go  through,"  said  his 
father.  "  There  was  only  one  spot,  at  the 
time,  for  the  head-gates.  Better  risk  the 
patching  and  propping  than  let  the  scheme 
grow  cold  on  my  hands.  Here,  you  see,  we 
had  no  garanties  d'interets,  like  your  gen 
tlemen  of  the  Ponts  et  Chaussees.  We  had 
no  security  but  faith  in  the  ditch.  Private 
capital,  if  it 's  non-resident  capital,  is  skittish 
unless  you  can  show  results.  Our  parties  got 
scared  at  the  outset.  We  had  to  give  up 
our  scientific  lay-out,  and  build  as  we  could, 
with  what  money  I  could  get  them  to  put  up. 
We  made  a  bad  job  of  it,  but  we  made  it 
pay.  But  there  is  just  where  the  pride  of 
your  foreign  engineer  knocks  him  out.  We 
had  one  of  them  with  us  at  the  start,  but  he 
could  n't  put  up  with  our  American  methods. 
It  hurt  him  more  to  botch  the  job  than  to 
see  the  whole  scheme  fall  through.  He  had 
his  professional  reputation  to  look  out  for ;  I 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.      17 

had  my  reputation  as  a  business  man.  If  I 
undertake  to  make  a  deal,  I  make  it ;  if  not 
on  one  proposition,  then  on  another ;  carry  it 
through,  somehow,  and  stop  the  leaks  after 
ward.  We  were  the  original  partners  in  the 
scheme,  Dunsmuir  and  I.  He  has  got  the 
location  that  we  should  have  had,  only  for 
the  split  between  us.  He  is  canny  enough 
to  see  that  he  holds  the  door  to  the  high 
line,  the  only  ditch  line  that  can  reach  the 
big  tracts  below,  that  we  can't  reach  — 
300,000  acres  of  the  richest  arid  land  in 
southern  Idaho.  We  have  been  freezing 
him  out,  you  understand.  It  has  taken  fif 
teen  years  to  do  it.  I  brought  you  over  here 
to  be  ready  for  the  new  scheme  that  is  to 
take  in  Dunsmuir,  location  and  all." 

"And  is  Dunsmuir  prepared  to  be  ab 
sorbed?" 

"  Bless  you,  no.  It  is  n't  time  to  close 
him  out  yet.  You  don't  like  the  vi  et  armis 
method,  I  see.  Well,  don't  be  alarmed. 
There  isn't  going  to  be  any  fighting,  not 
even  in  the  courts.  Dunsmuir's  claim  is  worn 
pretty  thin ;  but  if  it  came  to  a  tussle  be 
tween  us,  the  side  of  a  big  company  is  always 
the  unpopular  side.  Dunsmuir  has  been 
laughed  at  and  called  a  crank  these  ten 


18  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

years  ;  but  people  have  got  used  to  thinking 
of  him,  holding  on  with  a  bulldog  grip,  stak 
ing  every  penny  he  's  got  on  the  game,  and 
year  after  year  of  his  life  —  not  to  speak  of 
the  lives  of  his  wife  and  children.  It 's  the 
sort  of  spectacle  that  stirs  the  blood  of  your 
true  Western  man.  There  is  never  any  sen 
timent  about  the  rights  of  a  company.  It 
will  be  a  delicate  bit  of  work,  I  presume, 
this  closing  deal  with  Dunsmuir.  I  hear  that 
solitude  has  become  a  disease  with  him ; 
that  he 's  completely  warped,  like  a  stick  of 
timber  left  out  in  the  sun.  He  was  sound 
enough  once.  We  might  have  been  of  im 
mense  service  to  each  other,  if  he  could  have 
brought  himself  to  compromise  with  that 
professional  conscience  of  his.  But  pride 
before  everything !  He  had  put  his  name 
to  the  first  report  on  the  scheme :  it  should 
never  go  through,  then,  with  his  consent,  but 
on  what  he  called  a  sound  basis.  Of  course 
there  were  one  or  two  little  issues  of  a  per 
sonal  nature.  I  '11  tell  you  the  story  some 
time,  but  the  gist  of  it  is  just  here  —  Duns 
muir  is  a  sore-headed  theorist,  and  I  am  a 
practical  man." 

They  had  reached  the  measuring  weir  of 
the  main  distributing  channel,  and  the  talk 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.      19 

plunged  into  technicalities.  Dunsmuir's 
name  was  not  again  mentioned  between 
father  and  son  until  that  evening,  in  the 
summer  smoking-room,  when  Mr.  Norrisson 
returned  to  the  story  with  evident  relish  of 
the  opportunity  to  review  it  with  an  intelli 
gent  listener.  He  refrained  from  making 
points  against  Dunsmuir,  resting  his  case 
honestly,  or  carelessly,  on  its  merits,  such  as 
they  were.  He  did  not  pretend  to  be  proud 
of  them,  but  treated  the  whole  entanglement 
as  one  of  the  exigencies  arising  from  a  prac 
tical  man's  obligations  to  his  business. 

Above  their  heads,  as  they  talked,  a 
Japanese  lantern  softly  glimmered  in  its 
sheath  of  wrought-bronze  filigree  ;  the  pat 
tern  of  the  metal  screen  wavered  upon  the 
circle  of  light  cast  upon  the  ceiling,  like  the 
shadow  of  leafy  boughs  on  a  moonlit  cur 
tain.  Mr.  Norrisson  was  seated  in  a  deep, 
leather  chair,  one  foot  resting  on  the  rattan 
lounge,  where  Philip  was  stretched  out,  look 
ing  both  sunburned  and  pale  after  his  first 
day  in  the  saddle.  He  was  observing  his 
father,  and  smiling  to  himself  at  the  contrast 
that  bold  masculinity  presented  to  the  fair, 
changeful,  feminine  type  which  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  watch,  in  his  usual  role  of  the  lis- 


20  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

tener.  Ugliness  in  one  another  has  a  certain 
fascination  for  men,  where  its  signification 
is  power.  Philip  had  seen  famous  historic 
heads  by  the  Flemish  painters,  the  proto 
types  of  his  father,  set  off  by  the  ruff,  and 
gold  chain,  and  furred  mantle  that  would 
have  suited  Mr.  Norrisson's  middle-aged  de 
velopment  much  better  than  a  pongee  sack- 
coat  and  a  linen  collar.  Yet  he  understood 
what  an  offense  this  man  of  broad  instincts 
and  hard,  vital  force  might  have  become, 
with  his  sanguine  eye  and  sagging  underlid, 
to  the  petted,  disdainful  sensibilities  of  the 
wife  who  for  twenty  years  had  contemplated 
only  the  points  of  difference  between  them. 

"  I  was  joking  this  morning,  you  know,  at 
the  breakfast-table,"  said  Mr.  Norrisson,  not 
very  explicitly. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Philip  inquired. 

"  When  I  said  it  was  my  turn  now.  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  I  have  n't  in 
terfered  to  please  myself,  though  I  enjoy 
having  my  son  around  as  well  as  any  man. 
It  was  on  your  account  I  called  you  home. 
I  was  afraid  she  'd  polish  away  at  you  till 
all  the  bark  was  off,  and  then  your  growth 
would  stop.  That  was  one  trouble  with 
Dunsmuir.  He  'd  been  trained  up  to  a  cer- 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.      21 

tain  size  and  shape,  and  he  could  n't  change  // 
to  fit  the  circumstances.  Dunsmuir  was  not  [ 
much  above  thirty  when  I  first  knew  him, 
but  he  was  already  an  engineer  of  some  dis 
tinction.  He  had  done  excellent  work  in 
India,  in  charge  of  one  of  the  divisions  of 
the  Lower  Ganges  canal.  He  became  dis 
gusted  with  what  he  considered  the  gross 
inequality  between  the  positions  of  a  civil 
and  a  royal  engineer  in  the  Government 
corps.  I  believe  there  is  some  room  for 
jealousy  in  the  treatment  of  the  two  branches, 
and  Dunsmuir  was  n't  one  to  pass  over  a 
thing  like  that.  When  he  had  served  his 
term  he  decided  to  quit  the  Government 
service.  He  had  got  the  colonizing  fever, 
moreover,  and  was  resolved  to  do  something 
on  a  large  scale  over  here,  making  use  of  his 
Indian  experience  to  start  an  arid -land 
scheme  on  the  colonization  plan.  I  was 
looking  up  the  subject  of  irrigation  myself ; 
it  was  the  spring  of  '74,  and  mining  stocks 
had  got  a  black  eye.  I  made  up  my  mind 
then  that  irrigation  was  going  to  be  the  next 
big  boom. 

"  Dunsmuir  was  coming  down  from  the 
Northwest,  on  horseback,  traveling  light 
with  a  couple  of  pack-animals  and  a  half- 


22  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

breed  guide.  I  was  on  my  way  across  from 
San  Francisco.  We  met  at  Winnemucca, 
where  I  dropped  off  the  train  to  wait  for 
the  stage.  He  had  got  wind  of  this  tract 
through  some  old  Idaho  City  miners  he 
struck  at  Vancouver.  I  'd  had  my  eye  on 
it,  going  back  and  forth,  ever  since  '60.  I 
happened  to  know  there  was  a  possibility  of 
the  U.  P.  pushing  across  it,  and  that  the 
lands  must  still  be  open  for  occupation  ;  but 
it  was  all  vague,  in  the  future,  with  me.  He 
was  first  on  the  ground  ;  but  he  wanted  to 
go  in  with  some  American,  because,  you 
know,  an  alien  can't  locate  a  water-right 
under  our  government.  Well,  Dunsmuir 
turned  up  that  evening,  as  I  was  saying,  and 
we  sat  up  talking  irrigation  till  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  The  result  of  our  talk  was 
that  Dunsmuir  gave  me  his  spare  saddle- 
horse,  and  we  rode  north  together.  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  had  a  pleasanter  journey. 
Dunsmuir  had  a  keen  eye  for  a  new  country ; 
and  like  most  Englishmen  he  was  a  bit  of  a 
farmer.  He  knew  soils  and  climates,  and 
was  watching  out  for  the  flowers  and  birds 
and  all  the  living  things  of  the  desert ;  and 
when  we  rode  at  night  he  had  the  whole 
map  of  the  stars  in  his  head  like  an  old  navi- 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     23 

gator.  Those  lands,  as  we  rode  across  them, 
two  days  and  two  nights,  seemed  to  take 
hold  on  his  imagination.  He  saw  them  with 
the  eye  of  a  dreamer,  but  he  sized  'em  up 
just  as  coldly  as  I  could.  I  never  was  surer 
in  my  life  that  I  had  got  hold  of  the  right 
man.  But  when  it  came  to  laying  out  the 
scheme  in  detail,  I  began  to  get  scared.  His 
very  success,  formerly,  in  India,  was  a  dis 
advantage  to  him.  However,  I  'm  ahead  of 
my  story.  We  agreed  to  take  hold  of  the 
scheme  together.  He  wanted  me  to  take  it 
over  to  the  other  side  and  offer  it  to  some  of 
those  swell  philanthropists,  who  want  room, 
outside  of  their  estates,  for  their  crowded 
agricultural  population.  But  I  have  always 
had  a  preference  for  home  capital,  when  I 
can  get  it.  However,  it  was  chiefly  a  ques 
tion  of  time  with  me,  and  you  can't  hurry 
an  Englishman.  We  had  various  nibbles. 
I  closed  finally  with  the  Larimers,  a  New 
York  loan  and  mortgage  house  with  agents 
all  over  the  West.  They  knew  the  country 
pretty  well,  and  were  in  some  of  the  railroad 
combinations  that  were  likely  to  benefit  it  in 
the  future.  They  were  really  anxious  to  get 
in  here,  and  they  sent  out  one  of  their  men 
to  look  the  thing  over.  He  was  satisfied, 


24  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

and  they  put  up  fifty  thousand  to  enable  us 
to  go  on  with  the  work,  and  hold  the  right, 
while  they  placed  the  rest  of  the  money. 

"  Now  you  '11  notice  how  Dunsmuir's 
paining  got  away  with  him.  Here,  with  no 
tiemand  as  yet  for  water,  he  used  the  same 
icare  in  laying  out  his  system  as  in  India,  in 
a  thickly  settled  country,  on  a  tail  division, 
where  every  inch  of  duty  was  required. 
Well,  there  never  were  such  surveys  made  in 
this  part  of  the  country  as  Dunsmuir's  — 
longitudinal  sections,  and  cross  sections,  and 
elaborate  detailed  maps ;  and  everything 
costing,  you  know,  like  the  deuce.  He  put 
two  hundred  men  on  that  heavy  side-hill 
work  in  the  canon,  and  lined  his  earth-banks 
with  masonry.  Dunsmuir's  cry  was  always 
that  no  work  is  so  expensive  as  cheap  work, 
which  has  to  be  done  over.  I  could  n't  gain 
say  him  on  technical  grounds  ;  what  I  did 
urge  was  this  :  put  your  men  below,  on  the 
easy  part  of  the  line,  and  you  can  show  our 
people,  when  they  come  out  here,  ten  miles 
of  ditch  that  will  have  cost  no  more  than 
half  a  mile  up  there  in  the  canon.  Duns- 
muir  called  this  "jockeying"  the  scheme. 
The  entire  ditch  below  the  canon  could  be 
built,  he  said,  in  less  time  than  those  first 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     25 

three  miles  and  the  head  works.  Why,  then, 
should  he  push  forward  the  lower  work 
merely  to  let  it  stand  waiting,  to  its  detri 
ment  ?  I  had  nothing  to  say  but  to  bring 
forward  my  usual  doctrine  of  expediency, 
which  Dunsmuir  scorned,  both  as  a  man  and 
an  engineer. 

"It  turned  out  precisely  as  I  expected. 
Our  people  were  to  have  come  in  June,  when 
the  country  is  at  its  best ;  they  did  n't  get 
here  till  September,  when  it  looks  its  worst : 
dust  on  the  plains  six  inches  deep  ;  smoke 
from  fires  in  the  mountains,  cutting  off  the 
view  ;  hot,  and  the  river  sunk  to  a  creek. 
The  miners  said  they  had  n't  seen  it  so  low 
for  twenty  years.  Our  people  doubted  that 
we  had  even  the  water  we  claimed  to  have. 
They  doubted  everything  but  Dunsmuir's 
figures,  showing  what  the  canon  work  was 
costing.  They  would  n't  listen  to  his  aver 
ages  ;  it  was  the  big  figures  that  stuck. 
They  proposed  to  cut  down  the  canal  to  half 
its  size,  covering  a  portion  of  the  lands  first. 
Later,  if  the  water  held  out  and  the  settle 
ment  demanded  it,  the  canal  could  be  en 
larged.  Well,  you  can't  imagine  Dunsmuir's 
disgust.  We  had  a  battle  royal  — Dunsmuir's 
note-books,  his  Indian  experience,  his  histor- 


26  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ical  precedents,  all  his  professional  artillery 
and  his  personal  enthusiasm,  against  their 
?old,  hard,  business  sense.  They  were  scared, 
it 's  true ;  but  I  did  n't  wonder  they  were 
scared.  And  Dunsmuir  would  n't  go  a  step 
to  meet  them.  He  had  taken  offense  at 
their  criticism  of  his  economy.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  magnificent  handler  of  money 
who  did  n't  think  himself  a  great  economist  ? 
He  was  suspicious,  moreover,  of  their  plan  of 
opening  the  lands  for  settlement.  They 
talked  more  about  that  part  of  the  business 
than  was  advisable  —  to  Dunsmuir,  at  least. 
They  were  square  men  enough,  but  Dunsmuir 
thought  they  meant  to  squeeze  the  settlers. 
Privately,  he  did  n't  wish  to  give  them  con 
trol  of  the  scheme.  He  told  me  as  much, 
and  urged  me  to  let  them  go,  with  what 
stock  their  money  represented.  I  knew  we 
could  n't  afford  to  play  with  our  chances ; 
and  I  wanted  to  unload  and  be  ready  for 
the  next  thing. 

"  But,  you  must  know,  I  had  an  anchor  to 
windward.  While  we  were  waiting,  seeing 
how  Dunsmuir  was  carrying  on  with  the 
funds,  I  privately  got  possession  of  a  little 
bundle  of  water-rights  down  the  river ;  all 
put  together,  they  represent  our  present 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     27 

system.  I  did  n't  inform  Dunsmuir  what  I 
was  doing ;  he  would  have  considered  it  a 
sort  of  potential  bad  faith,  and  I  did  n't  wish 
to  take  issue  with  him  on  any  new  grounds. 
We  had  plenty  to  discuss  as  it  was.  When 
I  saw  our  big  deal  growing  cold,  I  showed 
the  Larimers  this  little  pocket-scheme  ;  no 
rock-work,  no  masonry,  line  of  ditch  directly 
upon  the  lands.  They  liked  it.  We  closed 
the  bargain,  and  then  I  offered  to  go  halves 
with  Dunsmuir.  Lord,  how  he  did  kick  ! 
I  had  been  f orelaying  for  the  event  of  failure, 
he  said.  I  had  betrayed  our  mutual  interest 
for  a  private  deal  of  my  own.  He  made 
nothing  of  my  offer  to  go  snacks.  A  vain 
show,  he  called  it,  offering  him  a  share  in  a 
rotten  scheme  which  I  well  knew  his  repu 
tation  would  n't  allow  him  to  touch.  He 
called  it  rotten  because  we  were  proposing 
to  raise  money  on  contracts  for  water  which, 
he  said,  we  could  n't  supply.  Why  could  n't 
we  ?  Because  we  had  n't  the  first  elements 
of  a  ditch ;  to  begin  with,  we  had  no  site  for 
our  headworks.  Very  true  ;  but  we  have 
made  shift  to  get  along  without  one.  He 
argued  that  our  failure  would  be  a  blow  to 
irrigation  in  this  section  for  years  to  come. 
Very  true  —  if  we  had  failed.  He  could  n't 


28  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

understand  that  one  scheme  was  no  more  to 
me  than  another.  To  hear  him  talk  of  how 
I  had  weakened,  you  'd  have  supposed  there 
was  some  principle  at  stake.  What  the  big 
scheme  really  meant  to  him,  I  'm  not  sure  that 
I  know.  Anyhow,  he  would  n't  look  at  any 
substitute.  He  might  have  gone  in  with  us ; 
he  preferred  to  hold  out  alone  against  us. 
Since  then  I  have  treated  him  as  I  would 
any  other  obstacle  to  my  company's  success. 

"  He  built  him  a  house  upon  his  location, 
as  solid  as  the  hill  it  stands  on.  I  have  come 
to  stay,  was  the  idea.  He  brought  his  fam 
ily  over,  and  he  raised  money  on  the  other 
side  to  buy  out  our  interest.  I  advised  our 
people  not  to  sell,  to  keep  their  hold  on  his 
scheme.  Ultimately,  I  knew  we  could  freeze 
him  out.  Our  game  has  been  to  let  him 
make  his  deal,  and  then  quietly  come  in  at 
the  last  and  be  the  card  too  many.  The 
tendency  has  n't  been  to  increase  Dunsmuir's 
friendship  for  us." 

"  How  was  it,  sir,  that  with  your  interest 
in  the  big  canal  you  did  n't  wish  it  to  go 
through  ?  "  Philip  inquired. 

"Our  interest  was  a  small  one,  though 
with  an  option  of  increasing  it  on  certain 
terms.  We  should  not  have  had  the  control- 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     29 

ling  voice  in  the  management ;  it  might  have 
gone   against   us,  conflicting  with  our  own 
ditch.     We  wanted  the  thing  to  hang  in  the 
wind  till  we  were  ready  to  take  hold  of  it 
ourselves,  as  we  now  propose  tq  do,  and  make 
the  two  ditches  into  one  system,  under  our 
own  management.     Then  we  shall  abandon 
our  shifty  headgates,  and   build  on   Duns- 
muir's   location,  and  supply  the  lower  line 
from  the  upper  one.     If  Dunsmuir  could  be 
approached  like  any  other  man,  on  a  business 
basis,  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  compro 
mise  ;    it  's  as  much  to  his  interest  as  to 
ours  ;  but  he  's  terribly  complicated.    We  Ve 
got  to  satisfy  his  science,  and  his  principles, 
and  his  pride,  and  his  romantic  sentiments, 
and  the  bitterness  of   fifteen   years'  steady 
disappointment.     It  has  been  hard  for  him 
to  look  on  and  see  us  succeed  by  the  very 
methods  he  despises.     Probably  the  hardest 
thing  for  him  to  forgive  us  is  the  plain  truth 
that  we  are  not  so  black  as  he  has  painted 
us." 

"  Possibly  that  truth  is  not  yet  obvious  to 
him." 

"  Possibly  not.  In  that  case  it  must  be 
painful  to  him  to  reflect  upon  the  ways  of 
Providence." 


30  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

The  two  men  smoked  awhile  in  silence. 

"  My  definition  of  a  theorist,"  Mr.  Norris- 
son  resumed, "  is  a  person  who  is  never  satis 
fied  with  his  own  work,  nor  with  anybody 
else's,  not  even  the  works  of  the  Creator. 
Meet  them  where  you  will,  they  are  always  ob 
structionists,  injuring  other  people's  chances, 
coquetting  with  their  own,  but  terribly  sore- 
headed  if  they  find  they  've  been  left  out 
in  the  cold.  In  politics  they  are  Mugwumps  ; 
in  religion  they  are  no-devil  Unitarians  ;  and 
if  they  read  novels,  they  only  read  'em  for 
the  '  truth  to  life.'  No,  sir ;  I  've  no  use  for 
a  theorist  — not  if  he  's  a  man.  Women 
are  born  that  way  sometimes,  and  can't  help 
themselves." 

Mr.  Norrisson  was  in  very  good  spirits. 
He  felt  that  he  had  told  his  story  tolerably 
well  and  with  fairness  to  the  other  side,  and 
he  was  confident  that  he  had  carried  his  son 
with  him.  He  gave  Philip  credit  for  being, 
as  he  would  have  expressed  it,  "  a  boy  of 
sense."  Philip  was  certainly  impressed. 
He  sat  thinking  the  story  over,  and  was  not 
prepared  for  the  change  of  subject  when  his 
father  spoke  again. 

"Do  you  think  your  mother  will  come 
home,  Philip  ?  What  does  she  say  about  it  ?  " 


HE  IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  SCHEME.     31 

"  From  what  she  says,  I  should  hardty  ex 
pect  it ;  but  it  is  n't  always  safe,  you  know, 
to  take  a  woman  at  her  word." 

"  No,"  Mr.  Norrisson  coincided  grimly ; 
"  I  took  one  at  her  word  some  five  and 
twenty  years  ago,  and  it  was  the  greatest 
wrong,  it  seems,  that  I  could  have  done  her. 
No,"  he  corrected  himself,  after  a  moment ; 
"  I  took  a  child's  word  for  a  woman's,  think 
ing  I  could  win  the  woman  afterward.  And 
that 's  why  I  forgive  her.  I  took  the  risks. 
She  did  n't  know  what  the  risks  were.  It 
was  n't  a  square  game ;  but  I  've  paid  the 
shot,  and  I  've  never  complained  —  more 
than  I  'm  complaining  now ;  and  I  don't  say, 
if  it  was  all  to  do  over  again,  I  should  n't 
take  the  chances,  just  the  same.  What  is 
all  the  rest  of  it  worth  if  you  can't  marry 
the  woman  you  want  ?  And  if  you  can't 
make  her  happy,  who  knows  whether  any 
other  man  could  ?  Have  you  always  made 
her  happy,  Philip  ?  She  loves  you." 

"  I  am  not  making  her  happy  now." 

"  No  ;  but  she  blames  me  for  it.  All  her 
talk  about  America,  you  know,  means  me. 
If  I  were  in  Europe,  she  would  come  home." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Philip,  earnestly ; 
"  but  of  course  I  don't  know.  Her  very 


32  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

bitterness  seems  to  me  to  be  a  sign  there  is 
feeling  left.  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before, 
but  now  it  comes  to  me  that  she  talks  about 
—  America  as  if  she  were  fighting  some  half- 
stifled  plea  for  the  country  she  says  she 
deplores." 

Both  men  smiled  at  the  word. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Norrisson,  "  when  she 
does  come  back  I  shall  expect  to  see  her  out 
here.  She  '  deplores '  the  West,  but  she  was 
born  a  Western  woman,  and  she  does  n't  love 
the  East  now,  you  know  !  " 


III. 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    SCHEME. 

BEFORE  they  separated  for  the  night,  Mr. 
Norrisson  planned  with  Philip  a  reconnais 
sance  up  the  line  of  the  "  old  ditch  "  to  look 
at  Dunsmuir's  location.  The  next  day  the 
manager  was  called  away,  and  it  turned  out 
that  Philip  rode  up  the  ditch-line  into 
Dunsmuir's  domains  alone.  He  was  told 
that  about  three  miles  above  the  mouth  of 
the  canon,  where  it  debouches  upon  the 
plain,  he  would  come  to  the  "  big  cut,"  a 
spot  often  chosen  by  excursionists  as  a  camp 
ing-ground.  Was  the  canon,  then,  a  place 
much  frequented?  Philip  inquired.  At 
certain  seasons,  yes  ;  when  the  young  folks 
went  on  picnics  and  riding-parties.  Tourists 
generally  took  a  look  at  it  on  account  of  the 
lava  bluffs  that  rose,  in  some  places,  two 
hundred  feet  above  the  river,  to  the  level  of 
the  hill  pastures. 

"  But  don't  you  go  foolin'  round  the 
house.  The  old  man  don't  take  no  stock 


34  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

in  strangers  up  there  on  his  location,  you 
bet !  " 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  Philip  entered  the 
canon.  The  bridle-path  hugged  the  shore, 
winding  in  and  out,  amidst  dusty  sage  and 
willow  thickets,  and  boulders  fallen  from 
the  bluffs.  The  first  sign  of  Dunsmuir's 
occupation  was  the  cabin  of  the  "  force," 
where  a  purblind  mongrel  collie  barked 
at  him,  without  crawling  from  the  house 
shadow  where  he  lay.  Half  a  mile  farther 
on  he  passed  the  force  itself  —  two  men  at 
work  blasting  rock  on  the  slope  of  ancient 
debris  escarped  against  the  bluffs.  The  sun, 
declining  in  a  cloudless  sky,  hung  midway 
between  these  barriers,  heating  their  vitreous 
surfaces  to  the  temperature  of  a  brick-kiln. 
The  breeze  that  faintly  puffed  and  died 
could  be  tracked,  on  its  way  down  the 
trail,  by  the  dust-pillars  whirling  before  it. 
It  smote  Philip  in  the  face,  and  left  him 
with  the  sensation  of  having  been  exposed 
to  a  sand-blast.  Across  his  sight  the  heat- 
veins  quivered  ;  the  river's  monotonous  ulu- 
lation  drowned  the  silence  —  a  sound  of 
mocking  coolness  to  a  horseman  on  the  blind 
ing  trail.  Philip  saw  ahead  of  him  a  black 
notch  of  shadow,  and  spurred  forward  to  the 
shelter  of  the  "  big  cut." 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   SCHEME.       35 

It  was  a  noble,  unroofed  gallery,  sixty  feet 
across  the  top  and  forty  feet  upon  the 
ground,  with  floor  and  slope-walls  of  cut 
stone  laid  in  cement ;  bending  in  a  mathe 
matical  curve  around  the  hill,  and  so  averted 
from  the  sun.  It  might  have  been  the  hall 
of  approach  to  a  tomb  of  prehistoric  kings. 
But  here  the  perennial  picnicker  had  made 
himself  at  home  ;  broken  bottles,  tin  cans, 
greasy  paper  bags  desecrated  the  pavement 
laid  for  the  tread  of  waters,  which  fate  and 
that  instrument  of  fate,  Mr.  Price  Norrisson, 
had  conducted  another  way. 

Philip  gave  himself  up  to  a  moment  of 
frank  sentimentality  over  this  good  work 
come  to  naught.  Like  the  work  of  many 
another  theorist,  it  had  been  in  advance  of 
its  time.  He  sat  still,  breathing  his  horse, 
loath  to  quit  the  shadow  for  the  glare.  More 
than  once  he  heard  the  call  of  a  bird,  the 
only  voice  in  the  canon,  before  its  peculiar, 
indeterminate,  yet  persistent  rhythm  took 
hold  upon  his  ear.  It  was  not  the  "  perfect 
cadence  ;  "  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
repeat,  upon  any  instrument,  the  first  note 
of  the  combination,  still  more  the  doubtful 
fragment  which  followed,  dropping  down  the 
scale  and  ceasing  suddenly,  the  final  note 


S6  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

wanting.  While  he  waited,  came  the  pure, 
sad  postulate  again,  unsupported  in  the 
sequel ;  and  then  the  haunting  pause.  Philip 
listened,  fairly  thirsting  for  the  sound,  so 
delicious  in  the  hot  silence.  Where  was  it, 
the  poet-bird  ?  Nothing  stirred  in  the  dead 
air  of  the  cut ;  there  was  not  a  leaf,  nor  a 
spear  of  grass,  to  record  that  a  breath  of 
wind  had  wandered  into  it :  but  the  broken 
utterance  came  again  and  again,  as  if  aware 
of  a  listener  and  trying  to  make  itself  under 
stood,  always  with  the  one  word  wanting. 
Nothing  came  of  this  lyric  pause:  Philip 
rode  on  reluctantly,  and  his  horse's  tread 
silenced  the  bird. 

By  the  distance  he  had  come  from  the 
mouth  of  the  canon,  he  judged  the  house  it 
self  could  not  be  far  away ;  and  as  the  walls 
of  the  cut  fell  back  he  saw  it  straight  before 
him,  the  only  house  for  miles  —  as  distinct 
in  that  absolute  light  as  the  picture  in  the 
small  lens  of  a  telescope,  yet  unreal  and 
dreamlike  in  its  dwarfed  proportions  because 
of  that  very  perfection  of  detail.  A  long, 
yellow  house  of  adobe,  or  plastered  brick, 
with  low  dormers,  scarcely  breaking  the  line 
of  the  roof,  peering  out  like  saurian  eyes 
into  the  glare.  The  roof,  sloping  outward  at 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME.       37 

a  slight  angle,  rested  on  the  squat  pillars  of 
a  massive  portico,  which  shaded  the  entrance 
to  the  house.  A  side  entrance  for  carriages 
was  through  a  blind  wall,  running  back  like 
the  wall  of  a  court ;  and  beneath  the  arch  of 
the  gateway  hung  a  bell,  for  announcement 
or  warning.  The  sun  beat  upon  the  dull  red 
roof,  projecting  the  shadows  of  smokeless 
chimneys,  and  emphasizing  the  dormers  with 
lines  of  black.  The  aspect  of  the  place  was 
that  of  sullen,  torpid  seclusion.  The  pla 
teau  or  bench  on  which  it  stood  parted  the 
meagre  waters  of  a  stream,  which  trickled 
down  a  side-gulch,  one  of  the  laterals  of  the 
canon.  Small,  stunted  trees  clung  to  the 
slope,  crouching  all  one  way,  as  if  the  wind 
were  ever  at  their  back.  A  blight  had  with 
ered  the  patches  of  thin  grass  on  top  ;  but 
up  the  gulch,  following  the  stream,  a  double 
/rank  of  poplars  towered,  their  dark  green 
tops  clear  cut  against  the  sky,  a  landmark  in 
that  dun  country  of  drought. 

Philip  concluded  that  all  the  water  de 
scending  from  the  gulch  had  been  hoarded 
within  the  court,  for  here  and  there  a  fruit 
tree  overtopped  the  wall,  or  a  vine  flung  a 
loose  spray  over  it ;  showing  there  was  a 
heart  of  verdure  inside  that  stone  shell 


38  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

which  the  house  presented  to  a  stranger. 
Scarcely  a  leaf  trembled  in  the  hot,  inter 
mittent  lull ;  even  the  river  seemed  to  hold 
its  breath :  then,  with  a  hoarse  sigh,  the 
sound  bore  down  again  ;  a  sheet  of  ripples 
spread,  whitening  the  current,  the  poplars 
began  to  rock  and  strain,  and  a  flicker  of 
white,  like  the  folds  of  a  thin  curtain,  blew 
out  of  one  of  the  lidless  dormers  in  the  roof. 
Leaving  the  cut,  the  trail  made  directly 
toward  the  house.  Philip  saw  that  he  could 
follow  it  no  further  without  trespassing  ;  but 
as  he  proposed  to  see  something  more  of  the 
canon,  he  rode  back  to  the  shelter  of  the 
cut,  tied  his  horse,  and  returned  to  the  trail 
on  foot.  His  plan  was,  if  possible,  to  gain 
the  top  of  the  bluff,  whence  he  could  survey 
the  region  and  study  it  as  upon  a  map.  He 
marked  where  a  thicket  of  wild  shrubs  flour 
ished,  close  at  the  foot  of  the  canon  wall. 
The  water  supply  which  they  had  "  located  " 
was  the  storage  from  melted  snows,  collect 
ing  in  hollows  of  the  rocks  above,  that  had 
dripped,  or  fallen  in  slender  cataracts,  down 
the  face  of  the  bluff.  Discolored  streaks 
showed  where,  spring  after  spring,  the 
muddy  overflow  had  descended.  The  slope 
of  debris  here  rose  to  within  fifty  feet  of  the 


THE    CHILDREN   OF   THE   SCHEME.        39 

top,  and  Philip  decided  to  try  this  spot  for 
the  ascent,  trusting  to  find  cracks  and  foot 
holds,  caused  by  the  action  of  the  water.  His 
spurs  were  in  his  way  as  a  climber,  so  he 
took  them  off,  and  went  light-footed  up  the 
talus,  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  bluffs.  Here, 
in  the  shade  of  a  huge  buck  sage,  ablaze 
with  yellow  blossoms,  he  threw  himself  down 
to  rest.  Already  his  prospect  was  immensely 
enlarged  ;  he  had  gained  a  cooler  stratum  of 
air  ;  he  could  see  the  formation  of  the  canon 
from  end  to  end,  from  its  rise  in  the  hills  to 
the  gate  of  the  river's  departure.  He  could 
pick  out  the  rocks  and  shallows  in  the  brown 
water  beneath.  Tons  of  boulders,  fallen 
from  the  bluffs,  lay  embedded  near  shore, 
breaking  the  current  into  swirls  and  eddies. 
The  river  had  worn  a  way  down  to  its  pres 
ent  bed,  from  the  level  of  its  former  path, 
through  a  fissure  in  the  ancient  lava  flow 
which  once  submerged  the  valley.  Such  was 
the  word  of  science  respecting  its  history,  a 
revelation  to  be  classed  with  visions  and 
dreams  of  the  night.  Had  Duiismuir  taken 
counsel  of  nature,  during  his  fifteen  years' 
waiting,  and  learned  patience  in  the  daily 
presence  of  this  astounding  achievement? 
Or  had  he  fretted  the  more  for  these  silent 


40  THE   CHOSEN   VALLEY. 

agencies,  witnessing  how  long,  how  heart 
breaking  in  their  slowness,  are  those  works 
which  endure ;  how  the  life  of  a  man  is  as 
the  frosts  of  a  single  season  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  one  of  nature's  schemes  ? 

Below  the  house  the  river's  channel 
pinched  suddenly,  and  the  volume  of  waters 
rushed  down,  with  a  splendid  outward  swirl, 
between  two  natural  rock-piers  resembling 
the  abutments  of  a  bridge.  This  spot  Philip 
accepted  at  a  glance  as  the  famous  location. 
Here,  upon  this  footstool  of  the  bluffs,  Duns- 
muir  had  planned  to  build  his  dam  and 
waste-gates.  The  river  was  to  have  been 
raised  to  the  level  of  the  big  cut,  and  its 
waters  transmitted  thence,  by  the  high  line, 
to  the  plains.  It  was  a  fine,  courageous 
piece  of  fancy,  from  an  engineering  point 
of  view,  and  conceived  closely  within  the 
bounds  of  practicability ;  but  it  was  the 
dream  of  a  potentate  with  the  credit  of  a 
nation  to  back  him.  Philip  saw  how  alarm 
ing  it  might  have  been  to  a  few  private  cap 
italists,  who  were  not  building  for  fame  or 
for  posterity.  Yet  the  dreamer's  time  had 
come.  The  only  doubtful  issue  now  remain 
ing  was  the  personal  one  —  upon  which  men 
waste  their  lives.  Philip  was  beginning  to 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME:   41 

dread  it  in  proportion  as  his  sympathies 
went  out  to  the  man  whom  his  father  was 
quietly  encompassing. 

Suddenly  a  hand,  unseen,  touched  the 
strings  of  a  guitar  close  to  his  ear,  the  sound 
proceeding  from  the  heart  of  the  wild-sage 
thicket.  Amazed,  he  sat  listening,  while  a 
boyish  voice  shouted  out  a  Spanish  chorus, 
with  a  most  deplorable  accent,  but  in  excel 
lent,  bold  time,  to  a  somewhat  timid  touch 
on  the  guitar  :  — 

"  I  love  them  all,  the  pretty  girls, 
I  love  them  all,  both  dark  and  fair." 

"  Be  still  a  moment ;  I  thought  I  heard  a 
step." 

The  accompaniment  broke  off,  as  a  softer 
voice  hushed  the  singer. 

"  Who  could  be  stepping  around  here  ?  " 

The  chanter  began  again,  but  the  guitar 
was  silent. 

Philip  rose  up  and  stared  at  the  tuneful 
bush.  He  walked  around  it,  and  saw  that 
on  both  sides  its  crooked  boughs  brushed 
the  face  of  the  cliff ;  every  twig  was  strung 
with  blossoms  of  a  vivid  gypsy  yellow ;  the 
whole  mass,  gilded  with  sunshine,  against  the 
purple  blackness  of  the  rock,  seemed  loudly 
to  defy  investigation. 


42  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  am  simply  positive  there  is  some  one," 
the  girl  voice  exclaimed,  low,  but  so  near 
that  Philip  started,  as  if  a  singing  bird  had 
sprung  out  at  his  feet.  There  was  silence, 
and  intense  curiosity,  on  both  sides  of  the 
bush. 

Philip   peered    at    its    winking    blossoms 
awhile,  and  then  essayed  a  way  between  the 
quickset  and  the  cliff.     The  springy  boughs 
yielded,  transiently ;  the  rock  seemed  to  give 
way ;  he  caught  himself,  and  stumbled  for 
ward  into  the  hidden  nest.    It  was  a  shallow 
cave,  or  pocket,  left  by  the  falling  of  a  seg 
ment   of    sheer  rock;   completely   screened 
from  discovery,  yet  free  to  every  breeze  that 
wandered  up  the  valley.     A  threadbare  rug, 
a  cushion  or  two   of    old-fashioned  needle 
work,  a  few  badly  used  books,  a  fieldglass 
such  as  the  stock  herders  of  that  region  use 
to  pick  out  their  brands  at  a  distance,  and 
the    guitar,    composed   its   furniture.      The 
boy  singer  had  started  to  his  feet,  and  Philip 
saw  that  he  was  crippled  in  one  arm,  which 
was  neatly  bandaged  and  carried  in  a  sling. 
The  girl  had  backed  away  on  the  rug,  hold 
ing  the  guitar,  while  with  her  free  hand  she 
improved   the    arrangement   of    her    skirts. 
The  interruption  had  evidently  been  rather 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME.       43 

haughtily  expected,  but  in  the  eyes  of  the 
charming  pair,  as  they  met  his,  Philip  saw 
a  change  of  expression,  and  both  began  to 
smile. 

"  Prospecting  for  anything  in  particu 
lar  ? "  the  boy  inquired,  in  the  slipshod 
speech  of  the  frontier. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip;  "for  a  way  out  of 
the  canon  without  crossing  private  grounds." 

"  How  far  have  you  followed  the  trail  ?  " 

"  Until  I  came  in  sight  of  the  stone  house 
at  the  mouth  of  the  gulch." 

"  Go  ahead,  then,  till  you  come  to  a  wire 
fence  on  this  side  of  the  gulch.  Follow  it 
along  up,  and  cross  above  it,  where  you  see 
the  poplars  in  the  fold  of  the  hills.  Or  you 
can  go  down  on  the  beach  and  follow  that 
along ;  only  it 's  a  bad  climb  back  again. 
Are  you  for  the  hills,  or  the  shore  ?  " 

"  I  am  for  the  bluffs.  Is  it  possible  to 
get  up  from  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  with  a  horse.  You  're  not 
footing  it  ?  " 

Philip  explained  that  he  had  left  his 
horse  in  the  shade,  below,  and  was  at  present 
exploring  the  canon  on  foot. 

The  young  people  took  counsel  together 
with  their  eyes.  "  There  is  a  way  up  from 


44  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

here,"  said  the  lad.  "  It  is  our  short  cut  to 
the  cave ;  we  come  down  from  above.  If  I 
show  it  you,  you  won't  give  it  away,  will  you? 
We  don't  care  to  have  the  mob  in  here,  you 
know,  with  their  eggshells  and  paper  bags." 
Philip  agreed  to  keep  the  secret  of  the 
"  short  cut "  from  the  mob.  The  lad  moved 
aside  to  give  him  room  upon  the  rug,  and 
the  young  girl  handed  him  one  of  the  cush 


ions. 


Plainly  the  couple  were  brother  and  sis 
ter;  they  might  have  been  twins  from  the 
likeness  between  them,  yet  the  unlikeness 
was  equally  strong.     Both  were  gray-eyed 
blondes.     Both  were  the  slender,  tawny  chil 
dren    of    wind    and    drought.     The    girl's 
smooth  cheek  was  toned  by  the  sun  to  the 
creamy  tint  of   a  meerschaum  in  the  first 
bloom  of  coloring.     Her  single  braid  of  long 
hair,  coiled  around  her  neck  like  a  torque, 
had  broken  silver  lights  that  were   lovely 
against  the  warm,  even  flesh  tones.     She  had 
deep-set  eyes  and  dark  eyelashes,  and  here 
the  differences  began :  for  the  boy  had  the 
prominent  eye  of  a  talker;  his  brows  and 
lashes  were  reddish  gold;   his  beauty ^was 
altogether    more    striking   than    the    girl's, 
but  also  of  a  commoner  type.     In  his  flan- 


THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   SCHEME.       45 

nel  shirt  and  belt  and  flowing  necktie  he 
might  have  been  the  ornamental  member  of 
a  "  Buffalo  Bill "  troop ;  while  the  maiden, 
seated  like  a  squaw  on  a  blanket,  looked  a 
perfect  little  gentlewoman.  Her  dress  would 
not  be  worth  mentioning,  but  that  Philip 
came  afterward  to  know  so  well  the  dark 
blue  serge  skirt,  and  the  faded  silk  blouse, 
with  its  half-obliterated  stripe  of  pink,  and 
the  neat  little  darns  in  the  sleeves,  which 
were  too  short,  and  "  drew  "  a  little  at  the 
elbows.  Everything  she  had  on  had  been 
good  in  its  day ;  all  but  her  shoes,  a  pair  of 
forlorn  little  tan-goat  buskins,  whitened  by 
dust  and  defaced  by  the  rocks,  the  like  of 
which  Philip  had  never  seen  before  on  such 
a  foot.  Under  the  circumstances  he  would 
willingly  have  foregone  the  bluffs  for  the 
cave,  with  the  very  least  encouragement, 
but  it  seemed  to  be  taken  for  granted  by  his 
young  hosts  that  he  was  in  haste  to  go. 

The  youth  had  remained  standing;  he 
now  turned  toward  the  leafy  tent  curtain  and 
looked  out. 

"  There  is  nothing  up  there,"  he  conscien 
tiously  explained.  "  Seventy-five  miles  of 
bunchgrass,  and  the  mountains,  and  the 
canon,  which  you  can  see  from  here." 


46  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"That  is  quite  enough  for  me,"  said 
Philip.  "  Still,  I  don't  wish  to  be  trouble 
some.  I  see  you  are  not  very  fit  for  climb- 
ing." 

"  But  the  climb  is  nothing  at  all.  We 
go  up  a  crevice  by  steps  in  the  rock ;  it 's 
no  more  than  climbing  a  ladder." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Philip,  seeing  that  he  was 
expected  to  come  to  some  conclusion.  "  Is 
the  secret  of  the  short  cut  mine  to  keep 
only,  or  to  use,  if  I  should  come  this  way 
again  ?  " 

He  looked  at  the  girl,  who  had  not  risen. 

"  Alan  —  my  brother  is  master  here,"  she 
said.  "  He  is  very  fond  of  company,"  she 
added  more  encouragingly. 

She  rose  now,  showing  her  height,  which 
was  nearly  equal  to  her  brother's.  Her  face 
seemed  childlike  in  contrast  with  her  woman's 
growth.  Her  gray  eyes  just  swept  the  sur 
face  of  Philip's  delighted  gaze,  seeming  to 
see  no  more  than  that  he  stood  there ;  but 
her  lips  kept  back  a  smile. 

Alan  called  from  without,  and  Philip  re 
luctantly  made  his  exit,  as  he  had  come.  A 
few  moments  later  he  was  roaming  with  his 
guide  along  the  top  of  the  bluffs.  He  saw 
the  circle  of  mountains,  and  the  seventy-five 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME.       47 

miles  of  summer-dried  pasture  dipping  and 
rising  to  meet  it.  Through  the  midst  the 
canon  ploughed  a  great  crooked  rent.  The 
level  light  encompassed  them ;  their  own 
shadows  were  the  only  ones  in  sight.  The 
river's  voice  rose  in  mightier  volume.  They 
felt  the  first  breath  of  the  change,  a  fresh 
ness  preluding  the  down-canon  wind,  which 
sets  in,  after  sunset,  toward  the  hot  plains 
from  the  mountains. 

"  My  sister  has  n't  a  notion  that  we  've 
given  the  key  of  our  back  stairs  to  the  son 
of  Mr.  Price  Norrisson,"  said  Alan,  coolly, 
as  he  strode  through  the  brittle  weeds  at 
Philip's  side. 

"  If  you  knew  me,  was  there  any  reason 
why  you  should  n't  have  said  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  you,  except  by  sight.  You 
know,  perhaps,  that  I  am  the  son  of  Robert 
Dunsmuir." 

"  Not  until  this  moment ;  and  I  'm  sorry 
if  I  have  come  by  anything  in  the  way  of 
courtesy  which  does  n't  belong  to  me.  Shall 
I  go  back  and  tell  her  who  I  am  ?  " 

Alan  was  not  sure  but  that  he  meant  it. 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  I  was  only  laugh 
ing  at  the  joke  on  my  sister.  I  'm  the 
emancipated  one  of  the  family.  I  don't 


48  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

hold  by  any  old  fossil  feud.  I  don't  care 
whose  son  you  are.  I  hope  I  know  a  gen 
tleman  when  I  see  one,  though  it 's  little 
practice  I  get  in  the  knowledge.  We  're 
not  all  scheme-ridden  at  our  house.  I  go  in 
for  a  good  time." 

"  And  do  you  mostly  get  it  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  Not  often ;  and  when  I  do  I  have  to  pay 
for  it,  as  I  'm  doing  now." 

"  Really  ?  You  are  paying  at  this  moment  ? 
That 's  perhaps  hard  on  me  again." 

"  This  is  part  of  it,"  and  Alan  indicated 
his  bandaged  arm.  "  But  it 's  the  least 
part.  Do  you  happen  to  be  acquainted  with 
any  of  the  boys  at  Gillespie's  horse  ranch,  in 
the  hills,  up  the  river  a  mile  or  so  ?  " 

Philip  did  not  know  Gillespie's. 

"  Peter  Kountze  is  the  man  in  charge. 
My  father  gave  me  a  horse  when  I  was 
twelve,  and  let  me  ride  with  the  range  riders, 
as  they  used  to  send  a  boy  before  the  mast 
to  cure  him  of  the  sea.  I  was  n't  cured ; 
and  now  he  thinks  I  'm  turning  cowboy  alto 
gether.  That 's  why  it  was  so  unlucky,  my 
getting  mixed  up  in  that  Pacheco  business 
the  other  night,  when  I  was  out  with  Peter." 

"  And  what  was  the  4  Pacheco  business '  ?  " 
asked  Philip. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME.       49 

"  Don't  you  read  the  '  Wallula  Gazette '  ? 
Then,  of  course,  you  don't  know  the  locals : 
who  's  in  trouble,  or  who  's  skipped,  or  who 's 
struck  it  rich  in  the  Cceur  d'Alene,  or  whose 
wife  's  got  a  ten-pound  boy,  or  anything. 
Well,  I  'd  got  leave  to  go  with  Peter  to 
Long  Valley  to  help  him  round  up  some 
cattle.  But  just  this  side  the  bridge,  before 
you  get  to  town,  we  met  up  with  Sheriff 
Hanson  and  his  men,  out  after  this  Pacheco, 
who  is  wanted  for  a  cutting  scrape.  Sheriff 
said  Peter  'd  got  to  go  along,  because  he 
knew  where  Pacheco's  girl  lived,  in  the  hills 
back  of  Cottonwood  Gulch.  Peter  had  no 
objection,  only  for  me.  I  told  him  he 
need  n't  let  that  hinder  —  I  'd  take  the  re 
sponsibility  ;  and  the  boys  said,  '  Let  the 
kid  come  along  and  see  the  fun.'  I  say, 
does  this  bore  you  ? "  Alan  had  caught 
his  companion's  eye  wandering  to  the  land 
scape. 

"  Far  from  it.  But  let  us  go  to  the  edge, 
and  take  it  comfortably,  with  the  view  be 
low  us." 

"  Like  the  gods  beside  their  nectar,"  Alan 
suggested  with  his  usual  "  freshness."  When 
they  were  lying  prone  in  the  warm,  brittle 
grass,  with  their  faces  over  the  brink,  the 


50  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

lad  went  on  with  his  adventure.  His  speak 
ing  voice  was  like  his  sister's,  deep  and  sweet, 
with  an  odd  cadence  in  it ;  a  voice  that 
atoned  for  his  lazy,  corrupted  accent.  Philip 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  listen  to  him,  with 
the  dreamy  lights  and  motionless  shadows  of 
the  canon  below  them. 

"  We  put  out  into  the  hills  about  moon- 
rise.  It 's  a  broken  country  after  you  leave 
the  valley.  We  played  hide-and-seek  with 
the  moon  among  the  gulches  —  the  little 
draws,  you  know,  between  the  hills ;  Cotton- 
wood  is  the  biggest  of  'em.  Finally  she 
broke  loose  from  the  clouds,  and  there  was 
the  cabin  —  no  light  in  the  window,  but  the 
greaser's  pony  stood  puffing  by  the  door,  his 
cinch  not  loosened  ;  so  we  knew  we  had  n't 
long  to  wait. 

"  Pacheco  heard  us  s'rounding  the  house, 
and  some  one  else  heard  us  too.  We  did  n't 
count  on  the  girl's  taking  a  hand.  She  broke 
us  all  up,  firing  on  us  while  Pacheco  lit  out 
up  the  gulch.  Peter  tried  to  shove  me  into 
the  woodpile,  but  we  were  n't  a  man  too 
many.  I  'd  have  looked  pretty  in  the  wood 
pile  !  They  said  it  was  the  girl  hit  me. 
Pacheco  only  fired  twice ;  his  horse  was  on 
the  jump,  and  his  shots  went  wild.  If  ever 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE  SCHEME.       51 

I  see  that  little  girl  of  his,  I  '11  give  her 
back  her  bullet.  The  boys  all  laughed  at 
me  ;  said  she  spotted  me  in  the  moonlight 
on  purpose.  She  did  n't  know  what  she  was 
aiming  at.  Every  time  she  fired  a  shot  she 
gave  a  screech  like  a  wildcat,  and  the  boys 
would  n't  give  it  her  back  again  because  she 
was  a  woman.  Anyhow,  Pacheco  got  away, 
and  I  got  into  a  precious  row  with  my  father. 
They  had  up  the  doctor  from  town,  and  he 
joked  me ;  said  the  whole  thing  was  in  the 
newspaper,  names  and  all.  And  that  did  n't 
help  matters.  Of  course  my  father  blames 
Peter,  and  he  's  bound  I  shall  cut  the  whole 
concern.  I  won't,  because  Peter  was  not  to 
blame.  We  both  lost  our  tempers,  and  so 
it 's  gone  on.  I  saw  you  that  evening,  in 
town,  and  Peter  told  me  about  you.  'He 
ain't  much  for  talk,'  Peter  says,  4  but  he  's 
got  a  good  eye,  and  he  takes  in  the  country 
same  's  a  States'  horse  when  you  turn  him 
loose  on  the  range.'  I  've  noticed  that. 
And  if  I  had  my  pony  back,  I  could  show 
you  some  country.  But  I  'm  not  to  have  a 
horse  again  till  I  've  promised  to  quit  riding 
with  the  boys ;  and  promise  I  will  not.  Am 
I  to  pass  'em  to  windward  as  if  they  'd  got 
something  that  was  catching?" 


52  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Alan  rolled  over  in  the  grass  and  pulled 
his  soft  felt  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  say,  do  you  come  up  this  way  often  ?  " 

"  I  've  never  been  up  before,  but  I  'm  sure 
I  shall  want  to  come  again,"  said  Philip. 

"I  suppose  you  know  all  about  the  row 
between  our  governors  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  a  sketch  of  it  from  mine." 

"  Is  he  very  bitter  ?  " 

"  You  may  judge  when  I  tell  you  there  's 
no  man  of  this  region  I  so  much  wish  to 
meet  as  your  father ;  there  is  no  engineer  I 
would  rather  work  under;  and  all  I  know 
of  him  I  have  from  my  own  father." 

"  You  can  afford  to  say  those  things  ;  you 
have  been  out  of  it,  and  your  father  has  won. 
It 's  not  so  easy  for  us  to  be  good-natured. 
It  is  for  me,  because  I  don't  care  about  the 
scheme.  I  hate  this  arid-land  business  ;  I 
think  it 's  a  kind  of  bewitchment,  like  the 
Dark  Continent  or  the  Polar  Sea.  Is  n't 
there  land  enough,  with  water  belonging  to 
it,  without  spending  millions  to  twist  the 
rivers  out  of  their  courses,  and  make  grass 
grow  where  God  said,  'Let  there  be  a 
desert'?" 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  was  the  word  in 
the  beginning  in  regard  to  these  desert 
lands?" 


THE    CHILDREN  OF   THE   SCHEME.       53 

"  It  don't  matter,"  Alan  retorted,  superior, 
in  his  quarrel  with  fate,  both  to  history  and 
grammar.  "  It  's  enough  for  me  that  it  's  a 
desert  now.  I  should  let  it  stay  so.  My 
father  can  build  other  things  besides  ditches. 
Every  spring  and  every  fall  the  work 's 
going  to  start  up,  and  I  'm  to  go  away  to 
school;  and  every  spring  and  every  fall  it 
does  n't,  and  here  I  am.  I  've  no  work  ;  I  've 
no  amusements  ;  I  Ve  nothing  to  do  but  loaf 
and  study  ;  and  my  father  will  tell  you  I 
stick  to  my  books  like  cobbler's  wax  to  an 
oil-stone  !  I  've  no  friends  but  the  boys,  and 
now  they  're  put  down.  It  's  no  wonder  if 
I  kick." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  compromised  through 
me,"  said  Philip,  smiling.  "You  showed 
me  the  crevice,  it 's  true,  but  the  cave  I  dis 
covered  for  myself ;  and  I  suppose  I  Ve  the 
same  right  up  here  as  the  rest  of  the  mob." 

"  Ah,  you  are  not  the  mob.  Ditches  be 
hanged  !  Have  n't  you  been  everywhere 
that  I  want  to  go  ?  and  seen  everything,  and 
had  the  chance  I  ought  to  have  had  ?  And 
yet  I  can't  ask  you  home  to  dinner,  nor  even 
meet  you  here,  without  a  hangdog  feeling 
that  I  'm  keeping  something  from  my  father 
—  all  on  account  of  that  idiotic  scheme  !  " 


54  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Dunsmuir,  have  you  seen  a  book  called 
the  4  Heroes  and  Martyrs  of  Invention  '  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Alan  ;  "  not  if  it  was  published 
within  twenty  years." 

"  It  was  ;  but  the  heroes  and  martyrs  are 
considerably  older.  For  the  most  part,  their 
persistence  was  the  despair  of  their  families, 
and  the  ruin  of  their  fortunes,  when  they  had 
them  ;  but  their  lives  make  excellent  read 
ing.  They  were  men,  like  your  father,  with 
a  tremendous  power  of  affirmation.  They 
had  a  genius  for  waiting.  Of  course  there  's 
a  tragic  side  to  the  life  of  every  man  whose 
eye  is  fixed  on  the  future.  Do  you  know 
the  Persian  proverb,  '  He  that  rides  in  the 
chariot  of  hope  hath  poverty  for  his  com 
panion  '  ?  It  is  sad  to  spend  years  on  those 
long  journeys,  trying  to  overtake  the  future, 
but  you  would  not  have  us  all  time-servers, 
men  of  the  present.  And  when  they  do 
arrive,  those  men  of  the  future,  their  names 
are  not  forgotten  ;  or  their  works  are  not, 
which  is  better.  I  wish  you  were  farther 
away  from  the  scheme  " 

"  I  wish  I  were,"  Alan  interrupted.  "  It 's 
a  pity  we  can't  change  places,  since  you  seem 
to  fancy  riding  in  hope's  chariot,  with  pov 
erty  alongside.  I  don't.  There  's  my  sister, 


THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   SCHEME.       55 

come  to  call  me.  She  's  afraid  I  '11  cut  five 
o'clock  recitations." 

The  girl  stopped  beneath  the  ledge,  and 
looked  up  at  the  two  faces  against  the  sky. 

"  Alan,  are  you  coming  down  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  'm  going  back  the  other  way." 

"Then  I  will  take  the  books."  She 
pointed  toward  the  way  she  was  going,  by 
the  lower  trail. 

"Dolly!"  Alan  called  her  back.  "Come 
closer." 

"  I  can  hear  you." 

"This  gentleman"  —  the  announcement 
was  made  very  distinctly  —  "  is  Mr.  Philip 
Norrisson.  Mr.  —  Philip  —  Norrisson  !  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  shy  my  name  at  her  as  if 
it  were  a  thing  to  be  dodged  ?  My  vanity 
protests,"  objected  Philip. 

"  Oh,  just  to  see  her  stare." 

"  She  does  n't  believe  you." 

Philip  had  been  watching  the  girl's  face. 
She  kept  her  eyes  upon  her  brother. 

"  You  are  too  silly  for  anything,"  she  re 
marked  in  a  conversational  tone. 

Philip  longed  to  throw  her  a  kiss,  in 
answer  to  her  charming,  puzzled,  upward 
gaze.  As  she  turned  to  go  there  came  the 


56  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

note  of  the  canon  bird,  pealing  through  the 
deep  cut  —  the  wild,  broken  song  that  in 
sisted  yet  could  not  explain.  She  looked  up 
involuntarily,  as  if  asking  them  to  listen. 
Philip  was  fain  to  think  that  her  eyes  sought 
his  for  sympathy  :  he  could  not  be  sure. 

All  the  way  home,  in  the  pink  dusk  before 
moonrise,  his  aroused  fancy  was  at  play,  con 
structing  a  future  which  should  include  him 
self,  his  work,  and  the  fair  children  of  the 
canon  ;  with  ever  the  dreamy  canon  lights 
and  shadows  attending  them,  on  their  way 
to  better  acquaintance. 


IV. 

THE  WATER'S  GECKING. 

DOLLY  was  shelling  peas,  in  the  vine- 
shaded  corridor  that  lined  the  court.  In  a 
hammock  close  by  swung  Alan,  mechanically 
conning  his  lesson,  while  his  eye  roved  the 
blue  sky  field,  above  the  house  walls,  like  a 
caged  bobolink's. 

"  You  have  never  said  one  word,  good  or 
bad,  about  young  Norrisson."  It  was  Alan 
who  spoke.  "  And  that 's  what  I  call  affec 
tation  ;  it  stands  to  reason  you  must  have 
thought  about  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Dolly,  prudently  ; 
"  and  I  have  thought  of  the  way  you  chose 
to  introduce  him.  Whatever  put  it  into 
your  head  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  knew  you  'd  buck  at  the  name 
of  Norrisson,"  Alan  retorted,  in  the  country 
slang  which  was  supposed  to  be  objectiona 
ble  to  his  sister ;  "  and  so  I  thought  I  'd  pre 
sent  him  at  a  safe  distance." 

"  Why  should  you  present  him  ?  Do  you 
know  him,  and  did  he  ask  it  ?  " 


58  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  He  knows  the  family  too  well  for  that. 
I  did  it  just  to  see  you  stare  ;  and  he  's  off 
my  conscience  now." 

"  And  on  mine  ;  is  that  what  you  mean  ? 
I  don't  know  why  you  should  feel  guilty. 
Would  papa  have  us  less  than  civil  to  a 
stranger  asking  his  way  out  of  the  canon  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  noted,  then,  for  his  hospital 
ity  to  strangers  of  the  name  of  Norrisson  ?  " 

"  Hospitality  is  quite  another  thing  to 
answering  a  civil  question.  What  passed 
between  you  on  the  bluffs  you  know  best 
yourself,  and  whether  you  've  stretched  your 
commission  as  your  father's  son." 

"  Oh,  my  father's  son  !  Who  cares  whose 
son  I  am  ?  We  're  always  in  some  con 
founded  attitude.  It 's  the  fault  of  all  proud, 
poky  families  like  ours ;  we  ought  to  mix  up 
more,  and  be  more  like  other  people." 

"You  talk  of  the  family  as  if  you  had 
founded  it." 

"  I  intend  to  found  the  American  branch 
of  it :  and  I  shall  go  easy  when  my  time 
comes  ;  I  shall  not  tie  up  to  the  first  thing  I 
take  hold  of.  What 's  this  place  to  us  more 
than  another,  so  we  get  a  living  out  of  the 
country?" 

"  A   living !     Do    you   think    that    your 


THE   WATER'S    GECKING.  59 

father  could  n't  get  a  living,  any  place  but 
here?" 

"  He  came  to  get  what  he  calls  a  living. 
He  came  to  found  an  estate  in  lands  for  his 
children,  in  a  country  where  land  is  cheap, 
and  men  —  like  himself,  for  instance  —  are 
dear  ;  so  he  told  me  himself." 

Dolly  flushed  at  the  sneer  and  the  flippant 
tone,  while  that  she  could  not  deny  abso 
lutely  the  truth  of  her  brother's  words. 

"  Very  likely  ;  the  least  of  his  motives  is 
the  one  he  would  put  into  words.  Money- 
making  is  a  thing  even  you  can  under 
stand.  It  is  not  to  every  one  he  would  talk 
of  the  greater  thing  he  came  for ;  his  chosen 
work,  the  nearest  to  the  work  of  the  Creator. 
Think  of  that  valley  as  it  is  now,  with  a 
great,  useless  river  bolting  through  it,  carry 
ing  away  the  water  that  should  be  the 
wealth  of  the  land  ;  carrying  away  gold,  too, 
and  hiding  it  in  the  black  sands.  And  such 
an  unkind  land !  Not  a  tree  for  miles,  nor 
a  little  stream,  for  the  poor  cattle  to  stop  at, 
but  they  must  travel  till  they  reach  the 
river :  and  then  to  think  what  it  would  be  in 
twenty  years'  time  with  the  water  upon  it ! 
If  it 's  glorious  to  discover  new  lands,  is  it 
less  so  to  make  them,  out  of  old  waste  places 


60  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

that  part  one  State  from  another,  and  add 
nothing  but  distance  ?  And  all  that  it  means 
to  you  is  a  '  living  ' !  " 

"  You  need  n't  sling  your  blank  verse  at 
me.  I  know  what  ditches  can  do  ;  but  where 
are  they  ?  Where 's  this  great  canal  we  have 
been  a  dog's  age  building  ?  " 

"  And  what  if  it  were  a  man's  age  ?  Ten 
acres  of  land  can  support  one  man,  so  they 
say  ;  suppose  it  should  take  a  man  his  life 
time  to  turn  even  one  hundred  acres  of  des 
ert  into  homes  for  ten  poor  men.  And  here 
is  a  great  province  given  over  to  drought !  — 
and  your  father  has  spent  fifteen  years  on 
the  borders  of  it,  telling  the  rich  men  how 
good  it  is,  and  how  the  people  need  it " 

"  Not  he  !  "  Alan  struck  in.  "  He  tells 
them  about  the  dividends." 

"  How  they  want  it,  then.  I  'm  not  claim 
ing  it 's  a  charity  ;  but  it 's  turning  time  and 
money  and  knowledge  and  prophecy  to  as 
good  use  as  they  can  be  put." 

"  It 's  all  very  fine,  large  talk,  but  we  get 
*  no  for'ader.'  i  Poor  and  poorer  we  maun 
be  ; '  and  the  canal  is  no  nearer  than  it  was 
ten  years  ago.  Dreams,  let  me  tell  you,  are 
not  filling  at  the  price." 

"  Yes  ;  you  are  always  keen  for  the  price. 


THE  WATER'S   GECKING.  61 

You  had  better  go  down  to 'the  town  and  get 
behind  a  counter,  and  then  you  '11  handle  the 
price  of  everything,  as  soon  as  you  part  with 
it,  your  time  in  the  bargain." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  our  name  who  have 
stood  behind  counters  before  me." 

"  I  'in  not  denying  it.  There  is  a  canny 
chiel  in  every  family ;  and  there  is  one  that 
sticks  in  the  lone  minorities,  and  fights  for 
his  dream,  though  it  may  not  fill  his  stomach. 
That  is  our  father,  bless  him !  And  I  love 
him  because  he  is  a  mighty  dreamer,  and  a 
prophet,  and  a  man  of  faith  in  more  than  his 
pickle  money's  worth  !  " 

"  Dolly,  his  dream  will  destroy  him. 
Don't  you  know  that  we  are  beaten  ?  We 
have  been  beaten  these  ten  years.  Every 
body  knows  it  but  ourselves.  This  location 
is  ours,  only  because  no  one  is  ready  to  take 
it  from  us." 

"  You  may  say  that  no  one  is  ready  !  It 's 
not  so  easy  to  do  a  thing  as  to  hinder  other 
people.  As  for  being  beaten,  I'll  believe 
it  when  I  hear  it  from  papa.  Alan,  lad, 
what  hurts  me  is  :  here  Mr.  Price  Norrisson 
has  got  his  son  home  from  Europe  to  help 
him  in  his  schemes,  so  Margaret  says ;  and 
where  is  our  father's  son  ?  Casting  eyes  on 


62  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  winning  side,  and  crying  that  we  are 
beaten !  " 

44  My  father's  son  is  here,  thank  you, 
staked  out  in  the  sage-brush,"  Alan  retorted 
sulkily  ;  "  and  I  'd  like  to  know  how  much 
help  Philip  Norrisson  could  give  his  father, 
now,  if  he  'd  had  my  chances  and  no  more." 

"  Bless  me  !  the  chances  you  talk  of  cost 
money,  and  I  never  yet  heard  of  a  son  that 
called  himself  injured  because  his  father  was 
not  so  rich  as  some  others.  If  our  father 
cannot  afford  to  buy  us  our  teaching  he  can 
give  it  us,  and  more  than  we  seem  likely  to 
*  get  away  with,'  as  you  say.  By  the  time 
you  are  where  papa  cannot  help  you,  Alan, 
lad,  I  think  there  '11  be  money  enough  to 
send  you  to  school." 

44  Well,  I  wish  you  would  n't  '  Alan,  lad  ' 
me.  It 's  well  enough  for  Margaret,  who 
has  nothing  but  the  Scotch  ;  but  ladies  —  " 

44  Yes ;  Margaret  would  smile  to  hear  you 
talk  of  ladies  —  that  nursed  you  on  her 
knees  and  taught  you  to  spell  the  word.  It 
was  when  you  got  beyond  Margaret's  teach 
ing  that  you  went  to  learn  English  of  the 
cowboys,  I  dare  say." 

The  morning  sun  was  creeping  up  the  wall 
of  the  south  corridor  ;  it  chased  Alan  out  of 
the  hammock  to  the  step  by  Dolly's  side. 


THE  WATER'S   GECKING.  63 

Having  come  to  a  knotty  place  in  his 
Ovid,  he  was  not  above  asking  help  of  his 
sister.  Dolly  brushed  back  the  locks,  of 
cobweb  fineness,  that  clung  to  her  warm  fore 
head,  using  the  back  of  her  hand,  her  fingers 
being  damp  and  ruddy  with  pinching  the 
dewy  pea-pods.  She  leaned  over  the  book 
without  touching  it ;  then  changed  her  mind, 
and  drew  back. 

"  Are  we  beaten  ?  "  she  asked  defiantly. 
"  Do  you  say  it  of  your  own  knowledge  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  know  how  the 
talk  goes." 

"Oh,  the  talk!  The  talk  is  nothing; 
'  kintra  clatter.'  " 

Dunsmuir  had  sunk  in  his  scheme  all  that 
he  had  put  into  it,  save  his  children  and  two 
faithful  friends ;  plain,  poor  people,  staple 
products  of  the  older  countries,  proved  by 
every  form  of  discipline  known  to  the  new. 
Job  Dutton  was  a  transplanted  New  Eng- 
lander  from  the  Western  Reserve,  the  last 
foreman  left  on  the  work  from  the  sif tings  of 
years.  Margaret,  his  wife,  had  come  to  the 
canon  as  nursemaid  to  Mrs.  Dunsmuir's  chil 
dren.  After  the  lady's  death  there  had  been 
unfortunate  insinuations,  conveyed  in  emo 
tional  letters  —  those  unconscious  vessels  of 


64  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

wrath  —  from  her  people  in  Scotland  to 
Dunsmuir,  sore  with  his  grief.  These  he 
understood  to  intimate  that  his  wife  had 
been  sacrificed  to  his  scheme.  Later,  the 
family  undertook  to  show  him  his  duty  to 
his  children.  Dunsmuir  declined  the  inter 
ference,  and  refused  to  send  his  babies 
home ;  and  so  the  canon  kept  them,  and 
Margaret  with  them.  The  canon  was  re 
sponsible  for  Margaret's  marriage,  and  Job's 
further  entanglement  thereby  with  Duns- 
muir's  fortunes :  for  Margaret  would  not 
leave  the  children  ;  the  question  was  never 
raised  between  husband  and  wife,  and  every 
year  they  gave  to  the  canon  life  made  it 
harder  to  break  away. 

Dunsmuir  alone  of  the  household  knew  its 
full  indebtedness  to  the  cabin  ;  and  he  fear 
lessly  accepted  the  obligation,  as  one  who  is 
generous  himself  and  confident  of  his  ability 
to  straighten  the  account.  Nor  is  it  likely 
he  could  escape  from  the  inbred  conviction 
that  it  must  be  a  privilege  for  persons  of 
Margaret's  class  to  be  connected,  in  service, 
with  persons  of  his  own,  with  or  without 
remuneration.  It  is  a  sentiment  that  dies 
hard,  in  the  blood  of  those  accustomed  to 
be  served  ;  which  many  pleasing  illusions  and 


THE   WATER'S   GECKING.  65 

traditions  help  to  keep  alive,  even  in  new 
countries,  where  it  is  imported  under  condi 
tions  often  curiously  the  reverse  of  feudal. 

As  the  master's  income  was  eaten  up  by 
the  scheme,  sacrifices  had  to  be  made,  and 
as  a  matter  of  course  it  was  the  women  who 
made  them,  and  thought  little  of  it.  Since 
Dolly  had  gained  her  growth  she  had  been 
dressed  in  the  simplest  of  her  mother's 
gowns,  made  over  to  fit  her  transatlantic 
slenderness ;  the  grand  ones  were  locked 
away,  upstairs,  in  sweet-scented  towels  and 
layers  and  stuffings  of  tissue  paper,  in  the 
brass-bound  trunks  with  foreign  labels,  for 
Dolly's  use  should  she  ever  come  to  the  full 
responsibilities  of  a  young  lady's  toilet.  It 
was  a  great  satisfaction  to  Margaret  to  feel 
that  these  were  had  in  reserve.  She  herself 
wore  sacks  and  skirts  and  aprons,  chiefly, 
and  thanked  the  Lord  that  summer  was  long 
in  that  land,  and  hoarded  her  stuff  gowns, 
and  was  never  known  to  have  a  new  bonnet, 
and  washed  the  table  linen  tenderly,  and  was 
jealous  'of  the  winds  that  flapped  and  twisted 
it  on  the  lines.  But  Dunsmuir  had  his  wine 
and  his  black  coffee  at  dinner,  and  his  loaf- 
sugar  and  lemons,  with  something  stronger, 
at  bedtime,  —  which  time  with  him  was  any- 


66  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

where  between  midnight  and  two  in  the 
morning;  those  bright,  electric  nights  of 
summer  were  ill  for  sleeping,  —  and  his  pipe 
was  seldom  cold,  and  was  fragrant,  always, 
of  the  best  "  mixture."  He  knew  not  how 
to  economize  in  small  details,  and  was  not 
young  enough  to  learn ;  but  in  a  total  deficit 
he  could  have  gone  without  and  never  would 
have  complained.  He  owned  his  weakness 
when  Margaret  sternly  returned  to  his  ward 
robe  garments  which  he  had  prodigally  be 
stowed  upon  Job ;  he  put  them  on  again  and 
wore  them,  in  a  spirit  of  manly  acquiescence 
in  matters  beyond  his  knowledge,  not  to  say 
control.  Margaret  counted  the  silk  hand 
kerchiefs  that  were  spared  him  as  if  they 
had  been  bank-notes,  and  his  shirts  and 
socks  lasted  in  a  way  that  was  miraculous  to 
Dunsmuir,  who  never  looked  to  trace  their 
history  through  a  pathetic  extension  of  darns. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  hard  wear  on  his 
clothes  Margaret  would  sooner  have  seen 
him  "  howkin'  stane  "  on  the  hillside  with  the 
men,  than  wearing  out  his  heart  over  such 
"  toys  "  as  he  mostly  filled  his  time  withal. 

Hearts  outlast  the  coats  that  cover  them, 
and  Dunsmuir's  heart  was  yet  strong  in 
hope.  But  the  sickening  inertia  of  his  life, 


THE  WATER'S   GECKING.  67 

the  long  tale  of  disappointment,  was  begin 
ning  to  tell  upon  him.  His  temper  was  giv 
ing  ;  he  was  weary  of  marking  time ;  the 
dry  summers  bred  in  him  a  low  fever  that 
wasted  his  flesh,  and  quickened  his  pulse, 
and  kept  him  thrashing  about  in  his  bed  at 
night ;  and  the  river's  mounting  cry,  borne 
past  his  window  on  the  gulch  wind,  woke 
the  echoes  of  all  the  sorrows  he  had  ever 
known. 

To-night,  as  usual,  Dolly  prepared  her  fa 
ther's  tray  for  his  bedtime  refreshment.  Its 
place  was  on  the  corner  table  by  the  cup 
board  in  his  study.  Margaret  never  broke 
anything,  and  the  same  cut-glass  tumbler 
Dunsmuir  had  mixed  his  toddy  in,  the  first 
summer  in  the  canon,  was  still  the  one  he 
used.  Then  she  looked  into  the  cupboard  to 
see  if  the  Wedgwood  biscuit-jar  needed  re 
plenishing  ;  screwed  down  the  lamp  a  trifle, 
secured  the  flapping  bamboo  shades  against 
gusts  and  night  insects,  and  went  out  to  seek 
her  father  to  bid  him  good-night. 

A  soft  but  mighty  wind  was  blowing, 
under  the  bright  stars  that  sparkled  in  the 
dark,  cloudless  heavens  as  if  a  snapping 
frost  cleared  the  air.  A  November  night  to 
look  at  —  the  blanched  crispness  on  the 


68  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

blasted  grass,  the  sharp  dartle  of  the  stars 
—  but  the  gale  blew  out  of  the  warm  south 
west.  Dolly  took  it  full  on  her  bare  throat 
and  welcomed  it,  and  lifted  her  arms  to  feel 
it  stroke  them  where  her  thin  sleeves  slipped 
back.  Behind  her  a  great  co-radiant  light 
spread  upward  from  the  bluffs,  announcing 
the  majesty  of  the  moon.  All  the  way  she 
went,  along  the  pallid  drifts  of  sand,  to  find 
her  father.  He  might,  and  generally  did, 
accept  her  good-night  kiss  mechanically,  but 
he  would  miss  it,  she  knew,  should  it  fail  to 
come.  She  found  him  in  a  little  cove,  where 
the  shrunken  brook  came  down  over  the 
stones  with  a  monotonous,  vapid  murmur. 
He  lay  in  a  trough  of  the  sand,  listening  to 
the  mingled  tale  of  waters,  "  like  a  sick  man 
counting  his  own  pulse,"  thought  Dolly ; 
and  as  she  looked  she  felt  a  very  mother  to 
him. 

"  Good-night,  father  dear,"  she  chanted, 
while  yet  she  was  a  little  way  off  ;  she  knew 
he  never  liked  to  be  surprised  in  his  silent 
fits.  Instead  of  answering,  he  sat  up,  opened 
one  wing  of  his  sand-cloak,  and  signed  to  her 
to  sit  beside  him. 

"  What  is  Alan's  business  down  the  trail 
this  time  of  night  ?  "  he  asked  her. 


THE  WATERS   GECKING.  69 

"  He  went  with  the  newspapers  for  the 
men.  I  forgot  to  give  them  to  Margaret." 

"  Is  there  any  need  of  his  staying  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  just  delight  to  have  him ;  and 
it  ?s  Saturday  night." 

"  He 's  keeping  them  out  of  their  beds. 
But  how  should  he  know,  that  never  did  a 
day's  work  in  his  life,  when  bedtime  comes 
to  a  man  who  's  been  up  since  five  ?  " 

"  It 's  not  quite  altogether  Alan's  fault,  is 
it,  papa,  that  he  has  not  enough  to  do  ?  " 
Dolly  offered. 

Dunsmuir  kicked  the  plaid  from  his  feet, 

"  Not  enough  to  do  ?  Where  are  his 
books  ?  He  has  enough  to  do  there,  I  think. 
But  no  ;  the  book  of  the  range  is  Alan's 
study,  with  a  cowboy  for  his  tutor.  He  'd 
sooner  be  able  to  pick  up  his  hat  from  the 
ground  at  a  gallop,  than  take  a  stool  in  the 
first  engineering  house  in  London." 

"  I  did  not  know  there  was  any  such  place 
waiting  for  him,"  said  Dolly,  with  deep  sim 
plicity. 

"  And  if  there  were  he  is  not  fit  for  it. 
Let  him  first  do  well,  or  fairly  well,  at  home. 
Where  's  the  responsibility  he  has  been  tried 
with  that  he  has  n't  refused,  from  fetching 
the  wood  for  my  office  fire,  which  he  never 


70  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

did  faithfully  for  one  week  at  a  time  !  No, 
I  will  not  take  shame  to  myself ;  child  or 
parent,  each  must  '  dree  his  ain  weird.'  The 
canon  has  not  hurt  my  girl." 

Dunsmuir  drew  his  daughter  to  him  with 
an  absent-minded  caress.  His  loquacity  sat 
strangely  on  him,  for  as  a  rule  he  was  a 
silent  man  in  his  thoughts.  She  shrank 
from  being  a  party  to  this  discussion  of  her 
brother's  faults,  and  after  a  little  she  ven 
tured  to  change  the  subject. 

"  What  does  Margaret  mean  when  she 
talks  of  your  saving  their  homestead  ?  How 
saved  it  ?  " 

"  I  never  saved  their  land.  Good  faith  ! 
It 's  little  they  've  ever  saved  through  me." 

"  Well,  you  did  something :  it  was  some 
thing  about  taxes,  by  Margaret's  way  of  it." 

"  Taxes,  to  be  sure.  Why,  Job  missed  his 
reckoning,  somehow,  and  the  taxes  went  by 
default.  They  've  a  curious,  inconsequent 
way,  here,  of  collecting  them.  The  claim 
was  advertised  in  process  of  law,  but  Job  did 
not  see  the  newspaper.  I  happened  by  as 
the  land  was  being  cried  at  the  court-house 
steps,  and  paid  the  tax,  as  any  man  would. 
They  could  have  redeemed  it  afterward,  had 
they  been  posted  on  the  law ;  and  I  should 


THE  WATER'S  GECK1NG.  71 

have  seen  to  that.  Margaret's  gratitude  is 
the  simplest  thing  about  her." 

"  It  would  seem  she  likes  to  think  you 
saved  it ;  she  has  it  over  and  over.  Latterly 
she  is  always  harping." 

"  And  do  you  know  why  ?  To  spare  your 
pride,  should  you  come  to  know  they  are 
trusting  me  for  the  best  part  of  their  wages, 
these  two  years.  I  have  paid  them  as  I 
could,  a  little  from  time  to  time  to  keep  the 
pot  boiling,  and  they  have  scraped  a  little  off 
their  ranch,  one  way  and  another.  But 
there  's  where  it  is  ;  Margaret  will  not  have 
us  beholden,  so  she  makes  out  there 's  a  debt 
on  their  side,  to  offset  what  we  are  owing 
them. 

"  It  need  not  hurt  you  to  know  it  now," 
Dunsmuir  added  gently,  seeing  that  Dolly 
was  more  troubled  even  than  she  was  touched 
by  the  ingenuity  of  Margaret's  devotion. 
"  These  sore  matters  will  soon  be  straight 
ened.  We  '11  all  get  our  pay  before  long. 
It  's  a  pity,  though,  since  you  speak  of  land, 
that  Job  took  up  his  desert  section  four 
years  ago  this  summer,  when,  as  I  thought, 
the  scheme  was  ripe.  The  land  is  forfeit 
now ;  nobody  has  touched  it,  but  it  will  be 
covered  with  filings  as  soon  as  word  gets  out 


72  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  canal  is  to  go  through.  It  was  by  my 
advice  he  used  his  right.  It  is  a  fortune 
lost.  And  I  dare  say  they  never  speak  of  it, 
even  to  each  other.  They  're  honest,  worthy 
folk.  I  'd  like  to  see  them  get  the  worth  of 
their  waiting.  But  what  comes  to  one  comes 
to  all." 

Dolly  listened,  but  without  the  expected 
enthusiasm.  She  had  heard  such  prophecies 
before.  About  every  third  year,  as  far  back 
as  her  young  remembrance  went,  the  scheme 
had  culminated,  and  always  at  this  season, 
which  was  also  the  anniversary  of  the  fam 
ily's  greatest  sorrow.  Dunsmuir's  hopes  had 
risen  with  the  floods  and  waned  as  the  river 
sank  in  its  bed.  The  strain  of  these  sum 
mers  had  been  followed  by  dumb,  dogged 
winters,  spent  between  the  study  and  the 
"  quarter-deck,"  as  the  children  called  the 
long,  windy  portico  facing  the  river,  where 
their  father  walked  out  his  moods  alone. 
Every  day  he  would  tramp  down  to  the  cabin 
to  "  count  the  force,"  as  he  said ;  "  the  force  " 
consisting  of  Job  and  three  men  more.  By 
spring  he  would  come  out  of  himself,  white 
and  worn  ;  sort  his  garden-seeds,  trim  his 
rosebushes,  and  drive  a  little  harder  with  the 
lessons,  a  sign  by  which  the  children  knew 


THE  WATER'S   GECKING.  73 

when  there  was  an  inward  rising  to  be 
quelled.  Debarred  of  his  own  work,  the 
man  loved  to  see  things  move  where  he  had 
power  to  make  them.  It  was  fortunate  for 
Dolly  that  Alan  balked  at  his  lessons ;  she 
would  have  gone  far  beyond  her  strength  to 
please  her  father;  but  she  hung  back,  not 
to  exhibit  too  great  a  distance  between  Alan 
and  herself.  When  it  was  dead  low  water 
with  Dunsmuir's  hopes  there  was  never  a 
word  said  about  the  scheme,  and  Margaret 
was  as  tender  to  him  as  to  a  sick  man  under 
the  doctor's  sentence. 

"  At  last !  "  he  breathed,  with  the  sigh  of 
one  who  feels  the  screws  relax.  He  turned 
his  face  toward  the  notch  in  the  canon  wall, 
where  the  light  of  the  west  looked  in  :  — 

"  '  Yes ;  hope  may  with  my  strong  desire  keep  pace, 
And  I  be  undeluded,  unbetrayed.'  " 

"  I  dread  to  hear  you  speak  it,"  pleaded 
Dolly.  "  If  the  door  is  open  at  last,  let  us 
creep  through  softly,  and  not  boast  we  are 
free.  I  am  afraid  "  — 

Her  father  turned  to  look  at  her.  "  Ah !  " 
she  cried,  "  hear  that !  " 

The  climbing  waters  broke  with  a  crash 
on  the  bar  ;  the  current,  racing  down,  hurled 
them  bodily  through  the  sounding  strait. 


74  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Out  of  the  darkness  and  clamor  came  a 
small,  cold,  mocking  laugh,  distinctly  syl 
labled,  repeated  on  one  note,  but  devoid  of 
human  expression.  It  was  like  a  cold  touch 
laid  upon  the  spine. 

"  Come,  come,  you  hear  the  water  clapping 
in  the  breach.  You  '11  hear  it  any  night 
when  the  river  is  up,  and  the  wind  carries 
this  way.  Do  you  think  it  is  the  kelpie  ? 
We  are  after  none  of  her  secrets." 

"  But  I  hate  it.  Whatever  it  is,  I  wish  it 
would  hush." 

"We  will  cry  it  hush,  come  high  water 
another  year.  When  the  rife  river  heads 
into  a  lake,  and  leans  its  breast  against  the 
scarp  of  the  dam,  you  will  hear  no  more  of 
the  water's  gecking.  The  kelpie  '11  be  closed 
out,  and  so  will  the  wearifu'  crew  of  cacklers 
that  cry  '  Crank  ! '  and  '  Dreamer  ! '  when  a 
man  is  doing  his  best,  and  mostly  failing  at 
it.  There,  we  need  not  speak  of  it.  The 
worst  of  a  long,  slow  fight  is  the  bitterness 
it  breeds." 

His  thoughts  must  have  crowded  hard 
upon  him,  for  he  checked  himself,  like  one 
who  feels  that  he  has  spoken  overmuch.  He 
took  his  daughter's  hand  and  passed  it  gen 
tly  over  his  face;  from  the  steep  forehead 


THE  WATER'S   GECKING.  75 

over  the  bony  brow  and  sunken  eyelid,  down 
the  cheek  and  over  his  mouth,  breathing  its 
softness  as  one  inhales  the  cool  virtue  of 
a  rose. 

Tears  gathered  in  Dolly's  eyes.  She  made 
no  secret  of  wiping  them  away.  She  loosened 
the  beads  that  clung  to  her  warm  neck  and 
choked  her. 

"  Why  do  you  cry,  Dolly  ?  I  should  be 
glad  to  see  you  take  good  news  more  simply. 
It  comes  late  for  some  of  us,  but  not  for  you 
and  Alan.  Can  you  not  believe  it  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it,  father,  but  I  do  not  see  it, 
nor  feel  it,  yet." 

"  That  is  quite  natural.  Well,  shall  we  go 
up  now  ?  See,  the  moon  has  swung  out  like 
a  great  ship  from  port ;  her  course  lies  clear 
before  her.  God  knows  I  am  thankful  this 
work  is  to  be  finished.  I  have  been  cruelly 
hampered  in  it." 

"  I  knew  it  was  for  the  work,"  said  Dolly, 
proudly.  "Some  have  said  it  was  for  a 
great  fortune  you  have  stayed  here  so  long." 

"  Eh,  you  think  your  father  should  be 
above  such  toys  as  fortune-seeking  ?  Well, 
there  you  are  grandly  mistaken.  I  am  no 
philanthropist,  and  I  am  a  man  that  needs 
money.  But  what  matters  a  reason  here  or 


76  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

there?  — romance  it  as  you  will.  The  man 
himself  is  his  own  best  reason  for  what  he 
does ;  and  when  the  thing  succeeds,  all  can 
see  why  he  was  bent  on  doing  it." 

"And  if  it  fail?" 

"  There  is  no  such  word,  my  dear.  Good 
work  can  wait ;  it  never  fails." 

Dolly  sighed  tremulously.  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  why  you  have  waited  all  these 
years.  It  could  not  have  been  just  for 
money." 

"Why  have  I  waited?"  he  mused,  with 
head  erect  and  dreamy  eye.  "  He  that  sees 
us  as  we  are,  our  prideful  mistakes  and  piti 
ful  victories,  kens  why,,  and  at  what  cost." 

"  May  I  ask  you  just  this  ?  "  the  girl  per 
sisted  ;  "  would  you  have  kept  on  just  the 
same  had  you  known  —  " 

"  Ask  me  nothing !  I  gave  up  thinking 
years  ago.  I  put  my  hand  to  the  plough  ; 
the  share  cut  deep,  the  furrow  was  long,  and 
we  are  nearing  the  end  of  it.  May  God 
prosper  the  harvest !  " 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  shook 
her,  and  kissed  her  hard.  Dolly  laughed, 
with  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  They  went  up 
the  hill  together,  she  with  her  arm  under  her 
father's,  trying  to  keep  step  with  his  long, 


THE   WATER'S   GECKING.  77 

unheeding  stride.  On  the  crest  the  wind 
caught  them.  Dunsmuir  opened  his  plaid 
and  folded  Dolly  in  it;  the  rowdy  blast 
strained  it  tight.  At  the  study  door  he  took 
her  by  the  pinioned  arms  and  lifted  her  over 
the  sill,  setting  her  down  again  with  a 
mighty  hug.  He  was  gay  as  a  boy.  Dolly 
trembled  for  him,  he  seemed  so  exaltedly, 
perilously  secure. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  presently, 
seeing  that  she  hung  about  his  room,  look 
ing  as  if  she  had  something  still  on  her 
mind.  "  As  well  out  with  it  now  as  any 
time." 

"  Would  you  mind  showing  me  the  letter  ? 
I  'd  like  so  much  to  see  the  very  words." 

Dunsmuir  smiled  in  the  negative.  "  I 
have  no  right  to  show  you  a  letter  which  re 
lates  to  other  people's  business,"  he  said. 
"  And  you  would  not  understand  the  half  of 
it.  One  thing  I  may  tell  you :  they  will 
send  over  a  man  to  search  the  water-right, 
but  there  will  be  no  expert  examination 
of  the  scheme.  They  have  looked  up  my 
record,  and  are  satisfied  that  I  am  compe 
tent  to  pronounce  on  it,  and  that  nothing 
will  be  misrepresented." 

"  You  will  like  to  work  for  those  people  !  "  t 


78  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

said  Dolly,  beaming.  "  But  others  have  come 
to  look  at  the  scheme,  have  they  not  ?  " 

"  Several  persons." 

"  Why  was  it  nothing  came  of  those 
visits  ?  " 

"  O  ye  of  little  faith  !  Generally  speak 
ing,  a  sinister  little  cloud  has  appeared,  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  the  hand  of  Price 
Norrisson  —  may  the  Lord  find  better  work 
for  him  than  meddling  with  me  !  I  have 
said  I  would  never  forgive  him  till  he  stood 
out  of  my  sunlight.  But  these  are  not  mat 
ters  for  you  to  take  to  bed  with  you.  Re 
member,  there  comes  a  time  when  the  best 
word  is  the  word  to  hold  by." 

Betwixt  happiness  and  doubt  Dolly  lay 
awake  long,  and  heard  Alan's  feet,  about 
eleven  o'clock,  pounding  on  the  sod  past  her 
bedroom  window.  At  the  same  moment, 
from  over  the  gulch,  came  Modoc's  short, 
excited  neigh,  —  his  call  to  Alan  when  his 
blood  was  up.  It  was  not  likely  that  Alan 
had  been  all  this  while  at  the  cabin,  thought 
Dolly ;  the  conviction  startled  her  that  he 
had  been  racing  over  the  hills  on  Modoc, 
reckless  of  his  father's  express  conditions. 
Alan  tried  one  and  another  of  the  rear 
doors ;  all  were  closed  for  the  night.  He 


THE   WATERS   GECKING.  79 

then  went  around  the  house,  quietly,  to  the 
front  door.  Dolly  heard  her  father's  voice 
in  sharp  tones  of  challenge  and  inquiry, 
followed  by  Alan's  low,  sullen  replies. 

She  sat  up  in  bed  and  rocked  herself  to 
and  fro,  in  misery  for  them  both. 


V. 

A   CONFLICT   OF   SCHOOLS. 

A  TELEGRAM  from  Mr.  Norrisson,  await 
ing  Philip  on  his  return  from  the  caiion,  an 
nounced  the  manager's  return  by  train  that 
night,  bringing  guests  for  whom  rooms  were 
to  be  prepared.  The  prompt  wording  of 
the  dispatch  was  like  the  click  of  a  latchkey 
preceding  his  father's  stamp  in  the  hall.  In 
his  sleep  that  night  he  felt  the  hot  breath  of 
the  canon  wind  again  upon  his  sunburned 
face.  He  sighed  and  tossed,  and  presently 
he  was  forcing  his  horse  up  those  tottering 
rock-slides,  slipping  and  falling,  with  a  din 
of  waters  in  his  ears.  Again  it  was  along 
the  brink  of  the  bluffs  he  picked  his  way, 
and  woke  with  a  strong  start  as  the  footing 
dropped  off  and  left  him  facing  an  abyss,  the 
booming  of  the  river  confusing  his  senses. 
Later  in  the  night  he  labored  through  a  con 
versation  with  Alan  that  he  felt  to  be  criti 
cal,  yet  in  which  he  was  singularly  helpless 
to  say  the  right  word.  He  attempted  a  com- 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  81 

parative  analysis  of  the  genius  of  their  re 
spective  fathers  ;  he  gave  Alan  good  advice, 
and  promised  to  assist  him  in  his  studies ;  to 
all  of  which  Dolly  seemed  to  listen,  with 
sweet  eyes  of  approval  lingering  in  his. 

Great  was  Philip's  relief,  on  waking,  to 
find  that  none  of  these  utterances  were  actu 
ally  on  record  against  him  ;  yet  he  was  loath 
to  part  with  those  tender  dream  -  glances 
which  the  unconscious  Dolly  had  given  him, 
in  the  lawless  travesty  of  sleep. 

The  air  had  changed  to  the  chill  of  early 
morning.  Carriages  were  rolling  through 
the  streets  ;  one  stopped,  and  Philip  heard 
hushed  sounds  of  an  arrival  in  some  distant 
part  of  the  house.  It  was  after  this  that 
he  fell  into  his  first  deep  slumber,  which  held 
him  long  past  the  breakfast  hour.  He  was 
introduced  to  his  father's  guests  only  as  the 
carriage  drove  up  to  take  the  party,  includ 
ing  Mr.  Norrisson,  away ;  where,  or  for  how 
long,  Philip  was  not  informed. 

"  Does  my  father  give  a  dinner  to-night?" 
he  asked,  chancing  toward  evening  to  pass 
through  the  dining-room,  where  Wong,  in 
full  starched  panoply,  was  laying  the  table 
for  six. 

"  Little  dinner.  Not  muchee  people.  Two 
lady." 


82  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  What  time  dinner  ?  " 

"  Same  time.     Ha'  pa'  six." 

"  You  will  take  in  Miss  Summercamp," 
Mr.  Norrisson  posted  Philip,  in  the  library, 
where  they  met  before  dinner.  "  She  is  a 
very  pretty  girl,  though,  I  suspect,  a  trifle 
spoiled.  The  Summercamps  have  had  hard 
luck  with  their  children  :  this  is  the  last 
one  of  five,  and  it 's  a  pity,  for  there  is  plenty 
of  money." 

"  Have  I  heard  you  speak  of  the  Summer- 
camps  before  ?  " 

"  Possibly  not.  The  ladies  came  in  with 
us  last  night ;  they  are  stopping  at  the 
Transcontinental.  Summercamp  wants  to 
go  in  on  the  new  scheme,  and  his  wife 
and  daughter  will  take  up  a  desert  section 
apiece." 

"Under  Dunsmuir's  ditch?"  Philip  in 
quired,  surprised  at  the  progress  affairs  were 
making. 

"  Under  our  ditch.  We  shall  have  the 
contractors  here  next  week,  or  week  after,  to 
look  over  the  work.  The  estimates  must  be 
ready  for  them.  I  must  have  a  talk  with 
you  about  that." 

"  And  how  have  you  managed  with  Duns- 
muir  ?  " 


A    CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  83 

"  Have  n't  approached  him  yet,  directly. 
Our  man  in  London  has  seen  the  people 
Dunsmuir  has  been  working  with.  He  had 
got  things  in  very  good  shape  ;  but  our  man 
put  them  on  to  the  situation  here,  and  they 
have  concluded  they  don't  want  to  buy  a  fight. 
It  is  the  game  we  have  worked  before  ;  but 
Dunsmuir  has  never  before  been  so  near 
the  close  of  a  bargain.  It  will  cinch  him,  I 
expect.  These  men  are  his  own  crowd.  He 
will  never  get  a  better  hearing,  and  he  knows 
it.  When  he  's  had  time  to  think  over  their 
alternative,  we  will  step  in  with  an  offer 
which  he  '11  be  forced  to  take.  He  has 
banked  on  this  scheme  about  as  long  as  he 
can.  There  's  nothing  left  but  the  personal 
pull,  on  men  that  he  has  n't  paid ;  and,  if 
I  'm  not  mistaken,  Dunsmuir  's  too  proud  a 
man  to  try  to  make  that  go." 

Messrs.  Leete  and  Maynard  entered  the 
room,  and  Philip  heard  no  more,  at  the  time, 
of  his  father's  strategy. 

The  ladies  were  unfeignedly  late.  They 
had  spent  half  an  hour,  they  said,  beating 
the  dust  from  their  traveling  dresses,  to  make 
themselves  tolerably  fit  for  a  dinner  table. 
Both,  in  a  breath,  began  praising  the  house 
—  "  Such  a  lovely  house  to  be  wasted  on  a 
couple  of  men  !  " 


84  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"Planned  and  built  and  furnished  by 
men,  Mrs.  Summercamp,"  Mr.  Norrisson  re 
torted. 

"  Ah,  but  when  you  plan  and  build  and 
furnish  for  yourselves,  do  you  do  it  like  this? 
You  need  not  tell  me  there  is  no  Mrs.  Nor 
risson  !  " 

Mrs.  Summercamp  approached  her  host 
on  his  domestic  side  with  the  fearlessness  of 
a  woman  happy  in  her  own  relations. 

"I  hear  there  is  a  very  charming  Mrs. 
Norrisson,"  Mr.  Maynard  interposed,  with 
flattering  emphasis. 

"  There  is,"  said  that  lady's  husband,  im- 
perturbably  ;  "  but  she  looks  upon  this  house 
as  a  sort  of  caravansary,  for  the  convenience 
of  first-class  tourists,  like  yourselves.  It 's 
rather  too  far  inland  to  suit  her." 

"  But  she  comes  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Well  —  she  is  waiting  till  we  get  rid  of 
the  smoke  of  the  sage-brush  bonfires." 

"  Why,  I  don't  think  it  is  at  all  notice 
able,"  said  Mrs.  Summercamp,  amiably  sur 
prised  at  this  novel  objection  to  the  country. 
"  Is  it  considered  unhealthy  ?  "  There  was 
a  general  laugh,  and  Mr.  Norrisson  admitted 
that  he  had  been  somewhat  figurative  in  his 
reference  to  the  virgin  crop  of  the  desert. 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS,  85 

The  dinner  went  forward  as  the  dinners  of 
a  man  of  experience  do.  It  was  a  trifle  too 
elaborate,  perhaps,  but  it  suited  the  house  and 
the  host,  and  the  ladies  frankly  enjoyed  the 
display  in  their  honor.  The  men  discussed 
locations  for  water  power  on  the  line  of  the 
new  canal,  probable  town  sites  and  railroad 
stations,  and  joked  the  ladies  about  their  art 
less  behavior  in  the  land  office,  when  asked 
to  declare  their  intentions  as  desert  settlers. 
The  four  travelers  appeared  to  be  old  friends 
and  to  know  one  another's  plans.  There 
were  frequent  references  to  Mr.  Summer- 
camp  as  "  pa'pa,"  in  a  style  of  easy  comrade 
ship,  and  Miss  Summercamp  openly  guyed 
her  mother,  with  fond  impertinence,  as  if 
they  were  girls  of  one  age.  She  was  a  pretty 
little  coquette,  with  large  dark  eyes,  decep 
tively  solemn.  She  looked  scarcely  more 
than  sixteen,  whereas  in  the  land  office  she 
had  calmly  sworn  to  twenty-five. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  nice  day  to-mor 
row  for  our  picnic,"  she  remarked  to  Philip. 

He  inquired,  with  polite  interest,  where 
the  picnic  was  to  be. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Norrisson,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Summercamp,  turning  from  Philip  to  his 
father,  "  what  sort  of  an  arrangement  is  this 


86  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

you  have  been  putting  up  on  us  ?  Here  is 
your  son  perfectly  unconscious  there  's  to  be 
a  picnic,  still  less  that  he  's  expected  to  take 
care  of  us,  and  show  us  the  way !  " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  my  son  was  not  on 
hand  this  morning  in  time  to  go  with  us  to 
look  at  the  lands ;  and  so  he  was  n't  aware 
there  were  any  charming  desert  settlers  in 
the  party,  and  could  n't  offer  his  own  ser 
vices  ;  so  I  did  what  I  hold  to  be  a  father's 
duty  —  put  in  his  bid  for  him.  Was  n't  that 
right  ?  I  '11  own  it  was  bad  of  me  to  forget 
to  tell  him  this  evening  before  you  arrived  ; 
but  in  the  matter  of  the  invitation  my  con 
science  is  clear.  Consider  how  seldom  such 
chances  occur !  Is  a  poor  young  fellow  to 
be  knocked  out  because  he  happens  to  over 
sleep  himself?  Not  while  he  has  a  father 
to  look  out  for  him." 

"  Well,  I  consider  the  whole  business  can 
celed  from  this  moment,"  cried  Miss  Sum- 
mercamp.  "  I  don't  accept  invitations  by 
proxy." 

"  As  a  trifling  matter  of  fact,  Estelle,  it 
was  your  mother  who  accepted,"  suggested 
quiet  Mr.  Leete. 

"  Well,  mamma  may  go  if  she  chooses, 
but  she  will  have  to  leave  her  daughter  be- 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  87 

hind.  Mr.  Norrisson  has  trifled  with  my 
vanity  in  a  way  that  can't  be  overlooked." 

Philip  submitted,  with  all  due  gratitude  to 
his  father,  that  his  own  vanity  was  in  a  more 
trampled  condition  than  even  Miss  Summer- 
camp's  ;  and  proposed  the  picnic  should  start 
afresh,  with  invitations  at  first  hand. 

"Now  you're  talkin',"  said  the  young 
lady,  lightly  dropping  into  slang ;  "  but  re 
member,  the  place  must  be  the  same.  I 
don't  know  that  anybody  has  mentioned  that 
we  are  going  to  a  place  in  a  canon  called 
Dunsmuir's  Location." 

Nobody  had,  and  Philip,  taken  by  sur 
prise,  could  not  at  once  conceal  his  conster 
nation  ;  the  canon  being  the  last  place  where 
he  would  have  chosen  to  exhibit  himself  as 
Miss  Summercamp's  vassal,  even  of  a  sum 
mer's  day.  The  idea  struck  him  as  a  sort  of 
comical  profanation.  "  Behold  the  victim 
writhe,"  said  she.  "  He  can't  hide  his  suf 
ferings  now  the  thing  begins  to  look  as  if 
there  was  no  getting  out  of  it." 

Neither  could  the  young  lady  altogether 
hide  the  note  of  vexation  in  her  voice.  Her 
mother  looked  uncomfortable ;  and  Mr.  Nor 
risson  tactfully  turned  to  her  with  some  com 
monplace  about  the  next  day's  arrangements, 


88  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

taking  it  for  granted  that  all  was  going  for 
ward  as  before. 

Miss  Summer  camp  quickly  recovered  her 
self,  and  graciously  accepted  Philip's  offer 
to  go  with  the  party  in  the  impersonal  char 
acter  of  driver,  since  she  would  put  no  faith 
in  his  professions  as  a  cavalier.  The  ladies 
took  an  early  leave,  escorted  by  their  friends, 
who  had  telegrams  to  send  out  that  night. 
The  father  and  son  were  alone  in  the  library, 
smoking  their  bedtime  cigars. 

"  You  must  be  tired,"  said  Philip,  observ 
ing  the  change  in  his  father's  features,  from 
which  the  society  smile  had  vanished,  as  a 
frugal  host  puts  out  the  extra  lights  when 
the  hall  door  closes  upon  company. 

Mr.  Norrisson  passed  over  the  remark 
with  the  abrupt  question :  "  You  were  up 
the  river  yesterday,  I  hear,  to  look  at  the 
location  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it,  from  a  distance." 

"  It  shows  what  it  is  —  a  natural  dam  site, 
rock  bottom  and  all." 

"  Is  it  known  whether  the  rock  bottom  is 
continuous  ?  "  asked  Philip.  "  There  is  one 
spot,  in  the  middle,  where  the  water  boils  up 
in  a  curious  way.  How  does  it  look  when 
the  river  is  low  ?  " 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  89 

"  The  river  is  never  so  low,  over  that  spot, 
nor  so  quiet,  that  you  can  see  what  the  chan 
nel  bed  is  made  of.  Dunsmuir  was  never 
satisfied  on  that  point.  There  was  another 
—  the  capacity  of  the  waste  weir.  In  every 
other  particular  his  design  for  the  head-works 
was  complete.  I  have  copies  of  his  plans 
and  drawings  for  the  works.  I  wish  you 
would  look  them  over  now,  pretty  soon,  and, 
if  you  like  his  design,  carry  it  out ;  and  I  '11 
give  you  help  about  working  up  the  specifica 
tions.  Or,  if  you  can  improve  on  it,  why, 
of  course  we  want  the  latest  advices.  En 
gineering  must  have  advanced  some  since 
Dunsmuir  laid  out  his  scheme." 

"Do  you  mean,  sir,"  asked  Philip,  in 
sheer  amazement,  "that  you  expect  me  to 
take  charge  of  the  building  of  the  head- 
works  in  the  canon  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  What  did  you  suppose  I 
brought  you  over  here  for?  To  carry  a 
chain  ?  " 

"  But  that  is  work  for  an  engineer-in-chief 
of  the  first  class ;  and  I  should  not  rank,  on 
the  government  corps,  above  the  grade  of 
ingenieur  ordinaire  !  " 

"  You  are  not  working  for  the  French 
government ;  you  are  working  for  me.  You 


90  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

will  have  my  advice  in  practice,  and  my 
knowledge  of  organization  to  help  you,  and 
I  shall  give  you  as  good  a  consulting  engi 
neer  as  the  country  affords.  I  must  have  an 
engineer  who  will  push  things  as  I  want  him 
to  —  no  buts,  and  ifs,  and  cheeky  conditions. 
The  conditions  of  this  scheme  nobody  is 
going  to  dictate  but  myself.  They  are  mat 
ters  of  finance  first,  and  engineering  after 
ward." 

Philip  was  aware  from  a  certain  violence 
of  manner  that  his  father  was  arguing  on 
a  sore  point,  one  on  which  he  had  learned 
to  expect  opposition.  He  got  up  from  the 
table,  where  he  felt  cramped  under  observa 
tion,  and  went  over  to  the  fireplace.  It  was 
decorated  with  a  mass  of  yellow  and  white 
azaleas  in  a  blue  Leeds  pot,  within  the  tiled 
jambs  ;  the  whole  darkly  reflected  in  the 
black  marble  hearth-slab.  Philip  stooped 
and  picked  up  a  petal  that  had  fallen,  rolling 
it  in  his  cold  fingers  as  he  talked. 

"  I  should  have  supposed  that  Dunsmuir 
would  build  the  head-works.  No  one  could 
carry  out  his  plans  so  well  as  himself ;  and 
by  this  time  he  must  have  the  facts  he 
needed :  he  must  have  tabulated  the  river's 
rise  and  fall  for  every  season  he  has  watched 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  91 

it,  and  sounded  every  inch  of  the  bottom. 
Those  two  points  you  speak  of  are  the  vital 
points  in  construction,  I  need  not  remind 
you.  If  time  is  an  object,  Dunsmuir  has 
had  plenty  of  it.  No  one,  not  the  best  man 
in  the  profession,  could  come  in  here  and 
decide  those  two  points  offhand." 

"  We  need  not  discuss  Dunsmuir's  place 
on  the  work,  my  son.  He  is  not  going  on 
it  at  all  in  a  position  of  authority.  That 
shall  be  my  first  condition  when  we  come  to 
terms  on  the  compromise.  I  can't  work 
with  Dunsmuir.  I  couldn't  when  he  was 
fifteen  years  younger  and  suppler  than  he  is 
now.  If  you  are  in  charge  I  expect  you 
will  defer  on  practical  questions  to  the  man 
ager,  and  on  technical  ones  the  manager  will 
defer  to  you  ;  but  the  practical  questions 
shall  come  first." 

"  I  should  call  the  size  of  the  waste  weir, 
in  a  country  without  records  of  rainfall,  a 
practical  question  of  the  first  magnitude  in 
the  building  of  a  dam." 

"  There  are  records  —  just  as  good  as 
public  records ;  only  Dunsmuir  would  never 
take  any  man's  word  for  a  fact  unless  he 
knew  him  to  be  a  trained  specialist  in  that 
particular  line  of  observation.  I  can  find 


92  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

plenty  of  old  miners  and  log  drivers,  up  and 
down  this  river,  who  can  give  you  the  aver 
age  flood  discharge  of  the  Wallula  for  the 
last  twenty-five  years  just  as  close  as  you 
could  come  to  it  with  your  scientific  appara 
tus.  Talk  of  training  !  Have  n't  they  got 
eyes  and  ears,  those  fellows,  trained  like  the 
beavers  and  the  musk  rats  ?  Don't  they  stay 
on  top  of  the  earth  by  using  the  faculties 
nature  gave  them  ?  When  they  make  a  mis 
take  the  penalty  is  death." 

"  Still,  as  a  matter  of  experience,"  said 
Philip,  pleased,  but  not  moved,  by  his  father's 
rhetoric,  "  testimony  of  that  sort  has  not  al 
ways  been  found  trustworthy." 

"  Always,  no ;  no  testimony  is  always 
trustworthy." 

"  I  find  here  among  your  blue-books  a 
case  in  point,  the  chief  engineer's  report  on 
the  breaking  of  the  Kali  Nadi  aqueduct  —  a 
most  pathetic,  manly  document.  He  had  no 
data  on  which  to  base  his  calculations  but 
hearsay  and  the  look  of  things ;  the  rec 
ords  had  been  destroyed  in  the  last  Indian 
mutiny.  And  he  made  a  mistake  which 
cost  the  Government  an  unmentionable  sum 
of  money,  and  to  a  man  of  his  reputation 
must  have  been  worse  than  death." 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  93 

"  My  dear  boy,  the  Kali  Nadi  aqueduct 
be  hanged  !     If  we  listened  to  all  those  tales 
of  heroic  failures,  and  counted  the  cost  of 
them  as  so  much  likely  to  come  out  of  our 
own  pockets,  there  would  n't  be  any  need  of 
ditches.     The  men  who  settled  up  this  coun 
try  did  n't  wait  to  hear  about  the  failures ; 
they  went  ahead,   somehow,   and  did  what 
they  had  to  do.     Our  conditions  here  are  no 
more  mysterious  than  in  hundreds  of  places 
in  the  West  where  big  works  have   gone 
through  —  without  records,  without  time  to 
hunt  up  even  such  testimony  as  you  despise 
—  simply  because  they  had  to.     The  people 
could  n't  wait  for  a  sure  thing.     Some  of 
them  were  failures,  but  more  of  'em  have 
stood.     I  am  not  taking  any  serious  chances 
on  this  scheme,  mind  you,  though  I  have 
taken  my  share  of  chances,  and  may  be  I  've 
had  more  than  my  share  of  luck.     I  know 
what  I  'm  offering  you,  and  I  am  sorry  you 
have  n't  the  nerve  to  make  the  venture.     I 
suppose  it 's  the  aim  of  your  schools  to  lower 
a  man's  conceit  of  himself,  but  the  modest 
layout  can  be  overdone.     I  am  not  asking 
you,  now,  how  little  you  know  about  engi 
neering." 

Philip  looked  down  and  trifled  with  the 


94  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

loop  of  his  watch  guard.  "  Every  one  must 
work  in  his  own  way,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not 
prepared,  myself,  to  take  the  plunge  in  the 
dark  which  seems  to  be  called  for  here. 
Modesty  is  perhaps  too  charitable  a  name 

for  it." 

"Is  it  partly  some  scruple  about  Duns- 
muir  ?  "  Mr.  Norrisson  asked.  Philip  did 

not  reply. 

"  You  are  too  fine-spun,"  said  his  father, 
observing  him;  "but  I  don't  blame  you. 
The  school  is  everything." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  don't  like  my  school." 

"I  do  like  it.  It  is  a  school  I  could 
never  afford  to  work  in  myself,  but  if  my 
son  can,  why,  so  much  has  been  done  for  the 
improvement  of  the  race." 

"  I  hope  you  will  believe  how  it  pains  me 
to  disappoint  you,  sir.  I  hoped  to  show  my 
self  equal  to  whatever  work  you  intended 
me  for ;  but  I  had  n't  an  idea  so  much  would 
be  expected." 

"You  are  wrong,  Philip  —  thinking  I  ex 
pect  so  much ;  I  don't  place  this  responsibil 
ity  upon  you  alone.  Don't  you  understand 
I  intend  to  back  you,  straight  through,  with 
my  experience?  It  looks  to  me  more  like 
distrust  of  your  father  than  of  yourself,  this 
bashfulness  of  yours." 


A   CONFLICT  OF  SCHOOLS.  95 

It  was  a  difficult  position  for  Philip  ;  but 
he  thought  it  altogether  due  his  father  that 
he  should  be  answered  with  plainness  equal 
to  his  own. 

"  Frankly,"  he  said,  "  I  should  prefer  to 
make  my  maiden  venture  under  a  profes 
sional  engineer ;  but  a  chief's  place  I  could 
not  take  under  any  man.  I  had  rather  work 
up  to  it,  and  hold  it  alone.  Between  Duns- 
muir's  design  and  my  father's  experience  I 
should  be  a  poor  figure  of  a  chief." 

"  I  concluded  there  was  pride,  as  well  as 
modesty,  at  the  bottom  of  it.  The  young 
Westerner  is  a  more  conservative  man  than 
his  father,  more  careful  of  himself  in  every 
way.  He  can  afford  to  pick  his  steps  and 
take  his  time ;  but,  by  the  Lord,  he  owes  it 
to  his  father  that  he  can." 

Philip  responded  with  such  heartiness  as 
the  conversation  had  left  him  master  of. 
He  was  a  prouder  man  than  his  father,  al 
though  his  training  had  made  him  less  self- 
confident.  It  was  bitter  to  be  judged  by 
standards  for  which  he  had  not  been  taught 
the  highest  respect;  and  the  fact  that  his 
father  was  such  a  power  in  practical  affairs, 
had  done  so  much  where  he  had  done  no 
thing,  made  his  refusal  to  cooperate  with 


96  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

him  seem  an  exhibition  of  stupid,  irrational, 
boyish  conceit.  They  shook  hands  for  the 
night  earnestly,  dissembling  the  slight  chill 
of  estrangement  which  both  felt.  Each  had 
begun  to  analyze  the  other,  comforting  him 
self  for  the  sense  of  mutual  unlikeness  on 
the  old  theory  of  types  inseparable  from  the 
generation  which  has  produced  them. 

"  My  father  is  a  man  of  resources,  of  prac 
tical  foresight,  of  courage  in  combination ; 
in  a  word,  a  born  promoter,"  Philip  asserted, 
in  answer  to  the  sad  whisper  which  said, 
"  You  can  never  trust  him  as  a  counselor, 
nor  yield  him  unquestioning  obedience  as  a 
chief." 

Mr.  Norrisson  put  away  from  him,  as  he 
had  done  many  another  bitterness,  the  dis 
covery  that  his  son  was  a  man  of  the  Duns- 
muir  type,  a  stubborn,  fastidious  "  obstruc 
tionist,"  a  stickler  for  impossible  ideals. 
But  he  never  allowed  himself  to  dwell  upon 
a  disappointment ;  it  tended  to  weaken  that 
nerve  upon  which  he  depended,  as  a  profes 
sional  man  depends  upon  conviction,  and 
the  soundness  of  his  method. 


VI. 

CAPITALISTS   IN   THE    CANON. 

THE  effect  of  the  canon  upon  Miss  Sum- 
mercamp  was  to  rouse  in  her  a  vivid  and  very 
practical  curiosity  as  to  the  resident  family ; 
a  phase  of  liveliness  which  her  mother  was 
too  indolent  or  too  indulgent  to  attempt 
to  check,  although  it  might  have  been  seen 
to  annoy  their  young  host,  in  his  unsought 
part  of  showman.  Miss  Summercamp  had 
caught  sight  of  Alan,  picturesquely  engaged 
in  fishing  from  the  rocks ;  a  boyish  pretense 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  and  being  seen  of  a 
very  striking  young  lady  visitor,  strolling 
with  her  friends  on  the  sands  below.  As 
the  group  drew  near,  he  recognized  Philip, 
and  snatched  off  his  cap  in  greeting  ;  but 
Philip  managed  to  get  his  party  headed 
another  way.  Miss  Summercamp  perceived 
that  he  was  bent  on  frustrating  her,  when 
ever  she  manoeuvred  for  a  nearer  view  of 
the  inmates  of  that  queer,  low  house  on  the 
hill,  the  "  asylum,"  she  named  it,  "  for  vie- 


98  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

tims  of  a  scheme."  Partly  for  teasing,  and 
more  because  she  resented  his  indifference 
to  her  pleasure,  she  set  herself  to  gain  her 
end  in  spite  of  him.  She  had  heard,  she 
said,  that  the  Dunsmuirs  were  all  cranks. 
The  young  man  in  the  pink  shirt  did  not 
look  a  crank ;  he  was  merely  a  beauty. 
Why  could  n't  they  ask  him  to  show  them 
that  much  talked  of  spot  called  "  Dunsmuir's 
Location  "  ?  It  was  pointed  out  straight  be 
fore  her,  but  she  could  see  only  two  low, 
black  buttes,  seated  on  opposite  shores  of 
the  river.  Still,  it  was  interesting  to  know 
that  a  dam  was  "  going  in  "  there,  and  that 
water  for  her  desert  claim  would  eventu 
ally  flow  through  the  big  cut,  where  they 
had  lunched  after  the  manner  of  picnick 
ers,  though  without  the  festal  paper-bag  or 
beer-bottle  left  behind  in  token  of  their 
visit.  Philip  had  been  respectful  to  the 
place,  nor  did  he  vauntingly  prophesy  con 
cerning  the  future  canal ;  this  he  left  to 
Messrs.  Leete  and  Maynard,  who  had  been 
posted  by  his  father. 

Miss  Summercamp  declined  to  drink  the 
warmish  river  water ;  she  would  not  accept 
any  of  the  substitutes  provided  :  apollinaris, 
claret,  ginger-ale,  she  would  none  of  them. 


CAPITALISTS  IN  THE   CANON.  99 

Philip  offered  to  fetch  her  some  of  the  creek 
water  which  came  down  the  gulch  above  the 
house,  and  it  pleased  the  young  lady  to  go 
with  him.  The  favor  of  her  company  he 
could  not  refuse,  although  he  imagined  she 
had  an  ulterior  purpose  in  offering  it.  After 
a  hot  walk  they  rounded  the  wire  fence,  and 
came  upon  a  clear  pool,  some  distance  above 
Dunsinuir's  boundaries.  But  this  water, 
also,  she  refused  to  drink.  It  was  tepid ;  it 
tasted  of  cattle  ;  the  pool  was  lined  with  de 
cayed  leaves. 

"  How  very  squeamish  you  seem  to  be  about 
those  people  ;  one  would  think  you  were  here 
to  look  out  for  them  instead  of  us,"  she 
complained.  "  Are  they  really  so  peculiar 
that  one  may  not  ask  for  a  glass  of  ice  water 
at  the  door?" 

"  I  will  ask  for  one,  certainly.  This  is  the 
first  time  you  have  mentioned  ice  water." 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  here  to  be 
hooked  to  death  by  wild  cattle  ?  " 

"  There  is  not  a  pair  of  horns  in  sight." 

"  A  hundred  will  rise  up  the  moment  you 
get  on  the  other  side  the  fence.  I  declare, 
you  treat  me  exactly  as  a  bad  brother  treats 
a  helpless  little  sister.  I  've  a  great  mind  to 
be  one,  and  just  tag  you  wherever  you  go." 


100  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Tag  away,"  said  Philip  ;  "  stick  to  your 
part,  and  I  '11  try  to  do  justice  to  mine." 

"  But  goodness !  I  cannot  go  as  fast  as 
that,"  she  called  after  him,  as  he  strode  down 
the  gulch. 

"  Bad  brothers  never  wait  for  little  sisters 
who  tag,"  Philip  answered.  Nevertheless  he 
did  wait,  and  with  gibes  and  laughter,  and 
some  ill  humor  on  Philip's  side,  they  arrived 
at  length  at  a  small  gate  in  the  fence,  close 
to  a  circle  of  poplars  which  guarded  some 
invisible  retreat. 

"Now,"  said  Philip,  opening  the  gate,  "  it 
will  be  perfectly  safe  for  you  to  proceed. 
One  is  quite  enough  to  ask  for  that  glass 
of  water,  and  bad  brothers  never  wait  upon 
their  sisters  if  they  can  help  it." 

"  You  overdo  the  part,"  Miss  Summercamp 
objected ;  "  brothers  are  never  so  consist 
ently  bad." 

"  You  have  dubbed  me  ;  I  am  merely  the 
creature  of  your  fancy." 

Miss  Summercamp  went  through  the  gate 
alone,  leaving  it  open,  however,  on  the  chance 
of  Philip's  changing  his  mind.  He  did  so, 
after  a  little,  not  knowing  how  far  her  freak 
might  carry  her.  The  gate  of  the  canon 
garden  led  to  the  poplar  alley,  at  the  upper 


CAPITALISTS  IN  THE   OANytf.         1'Jl 


end  of  which  the  explorers  'had  coma  apt, 
Dunsmuir  had  modeled  this"  feature  -  o£  life 
plantation  after  the  lady's  walk  at  a  small 
hacienda  where  he  had  once  spent  a  night  on 
one  of  his  southern  journeys.  This  was  be 
fore  he  had  a  lady  of  his  own,  but  not  before 
he  had  dreams  wherewith  to  people  such  a 
moonlighted  vista  as  that  which  he  paced, 
alone,  under  the  black-ash  trees  of  Mexico 
templada.  He  had  been  forced  to  substitute 
poplars  for  his  lady  of  the  north  ;  otherwise 
he  had  faithfully  copied  the  little  deserted 
cahada,  even  to  the  glorieta  at  the  top  of  it, 
where  the  trees,  opening  in  a  circle,  inclosed 
two  stone  benches  that  faced  each  other,  in 
an  appealing  silence  and  emptiness,  on  oppo 
site  sides  of  a  dry  fountain.  As  if  invoked 
by  the  spell  of  that  resemblance  he  had  fondly 
sought,  silence  had  taken  possession,  and  the 
stone  benches  held  only  drifts  of  yellow 
leaves. 

When  Dolly  Dunsmuir  first  set  up  house 
keeping  with  her  dolls  in  the  canon  arbor, 
and  Alan  occasionally  consented  to  visit  her, 
the  sunken  tank  of  the  fountain  was  filled 
with  dead  leaves,  and  the  white  painted  urn 
was  dingy  and  choked  with  dust.  The  fol 
lowing  spring  saw  both  children  busy  filling 


102  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

up  the  tank  with  earth,  and  planting  it  with 
such  hardy  perennials  as  they  could  beg  from 
their  father's  beds.  These,  coming  up  in  due 
time,  brimmed  the  useless  basin  with  life  and 
color,  while  the  urn  overflowed  with  garlands 
of  white  and  purple  clematis.  When  Duns- 
muir  saw  what  the  children  were  doing,  he 
surreptitiously  added  to  their  humble  collec 
tion  a  regal  Lilium  Auratum  for  his  girl- 
gardener,  and  a  "  giant  of  battles  "  rose  for 
the  boy.  Before  many  seasons  both  rose  and 
lily  were  left  to  Dolly's  tending.  Alan  had 
stepped  forth  into  his  bold  teens,  and  took  no 
more  interest  in  gardening.  He  had  fitted 
up  a  bower  of  his  own, — the  cave  under 
neath  the  bluffs,  —  whence  he  could  look  afar 
and  downward,  and  spy  the  cattle  on  the 
hills,  and  hoot  and  howl  to  his  heart's  content. 
But  Dolly  remained  faithful  to  the  place  of 
their  childish  trysts.  It  was  her  out-door 
chamber  of  dreams,  where  she  sat  and  mused 
with  idle  hands  and  bright,  unseeing  eyes. 
When  the  dream  grew  too  strong  and 
pushed  her  hard,  she  would  walk  round  and 
round,  like  a  somnambulist,  her  face  alight, 
her  lips  moving.  What  she  whispered  at 
such  moments  she  would  have  died,  girlishly 
speaking,  sooner  than  have  confessed.  There 


CAPITALISTS   IN  THE   CANON.         103 

was  little  heart  in  these  dreams  and  not 
much  real  imagination  ;  only  the  young  in 
stinct  to  people  empty  walls  with  pictures  of 
action :  and  Dolly's  fancy  was  limited  by  the 
material  her  narrow  life  and  her  conven 
tional  reading  supplied.  The  caiion  could 
not  make  a  genius  of  Dolly,  neither  could 
it  spoil  her  for  a  happy  woman. 

The  morning  of  the  picnic  being  a  Satur 
day,  she  had  given  her  beautiful  long  hair  its 
weekly  washing,  and  now  she  had  retired  to 
the  arbor,  with  a  lapf  ul  of  mending  to  employ 
the  time  while  her  damp  mane  was  drying. 
She  had  tucked  up  one  slippered  foot  under 
her,  the  stone  benches  being  high  ;  her  hair, 
which  had  recovered  its  natural  color,  with 
an  added  lustre  from  the  bath,  began  to 
creep  and  curl  in  the  dry,  electric  air.  She 
was  pinning  it  back  with  a  long,  crooked 
shell  pin,  when  she  first  became  aware  of 
voices  and  footsteps,  not  usual  in  that  place 
or  at  that  hour.  She  sat  perfectly  still,  try 
ing  to  catch  their  direction. 

"  Do  come  here,  bad  brother,  if  you  want 
to  see  the  Lady  of  Shalott." 

Miss  Summercamp  had  caught  at  the  first 
fancy  that  crossed  her  to  characterize  the 
figure  of  Dolly  sitting  alone  in  the  green 


104  THE   CHOSEN   VALLEY. 

light  of  the  arbor,  her  face  half  hidden  in  her 
spreading  hair.  There  came  no  answer  to 
this  invitation ;  but  as  the  voices  and  foot 
steps  continued  to  hover  distinctly  about  the 
place,  Dolly  gathered  her  work,  flaming  with 
indignation,  and  left  the  arbor.  Neve*  before 
had  the  mob  been  so  bold. 

Part  way  down  the  poplar  walk  she  ran 
almost  into  the  arms  of  Miss  Summercamp, 
who,  with  Philip  behind  her,  had  just  pushed 
between  the  tree  boles.  The  two  girls  sprang 
apart  and  stared  at  each  other  ;  Dolly,  help 
less  with  anger  and  conscious  of  her  Ophelia 
like  locks,  facing  an  alert,  smiling  little 
person,  in  a  sailor  hat  and  a  smart  mountain 
frock  of  colors  as  bright  as  a  kingfisher's. 

"  Oh,  excuse  me  !  "  Miss  Summercamp 
began.  "  Would  you  be  so  good  " 

But  Dolly  interrupted  haughtily.  "  If  you 
are  wanting  anything  please  ask  at  the  house. 
"We  don't  receive  strangers  by  the  cow-gate." 
With  one  glance  at  Philip  from  her  gray 
eyes,  now  black  with  anger,  she  hurried  past 
them,  taking  a  near  cut  through  the  trees  to 
spare  herself  the  sense  of  being  watched. 

"  Did  you  ever  !  "  Miss  Summercamp  ex 
claimed.  "  Why  she  popped  off  just  like  an 
electric  light  when  you  jerk  the  chain.  It 


CAPITALISTS  IN  THE   CANON.          105 

reminds  me  of  the  way  the  creatures  answer 
in  'Alice  in  Wonderland.'  Would  they 
throw  things  at  us,  do  you  suppose,  if  we 
knocked  at  the  front  door?  " 

That  evening  Philip  was  in  such  low  spirits 
that  his  father  remarked  it,  and  asked  if  he 
felt  unwell. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  fretting  over  your 
decision  last  night,"  said  Mr.  Norrisson. 
"It  need  not  rest  a  feather's  weight  upon 
you.  I  may  have  taken  a  little  pride  think 
ing  we  could  patch  up  a  team,  you  and  I,  and 
see  this  work  through  ;  but  let  it  go  !  There 
is  always  more  than  one  way  of  doing  a  thing. 
I  expect  you  'd  like  to  get  to  work.  Tell  me 
what  you  feel  yourself  able  for,  and  I  will 
put  you  in  the  way  of  it." 

"Yes  ;  I  think  I  had  better  go  to  work," 
Philip  assented. 

"Well,  the  fact  is  there  is  nothing  out 
here  for  an  intelligent  man  to  do  but  work. 
We  all  work  too  hard  just  because  we  get 
bilious  and  are  bored  to  death  if  we  don't." 

The  consultation  ended  in  Philip's  being 
given  charge  of  a  reconnoissance  for  select 
ing  reservoir  sites  in  the  hill  country  above 
the  canon,  with  orders  to  meet  his  men  at  a 


106  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

stage  station  on  the  nearest  divide,  called  the 
"  Summit."  Mr.  Norrisson  gave  his  son  a 
horse,  a  Winchester  rifle,  and  bade  him  go 
buy  himself  some  dark  flannel  shirts,  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  a  pair  of  camp  blankets. 
With  this  equipment  Philip  took  the  box 
seat  of  the  stage  one  dazzling,  breezeless 
morning,  and  turned  his  face  joyously  to  the 
hills.  The  old  immigrant  trail,  now  the  stage 
road  to  Idaho  City  and  the  mining  region 
beyond,  makes  a  long  detour,  after  leaving 
the  valley,  to  avoid  the  bluffs,  and  gains  a 
fording  place  some  distance  above  the  canon. 
Every  few  miles  there  is  a  wayside  post-office 
for  the  convenience  of  camps  or  outlying 
Branches.  Philip  made  sketches  in  his  note 
book  of  one  or  two  of  these  post-boxes,  nailed 
to  trunks  of  trees  or  propped  upon  posts 
within  reach  of  Mosely  the  stage  driver's 
hand.  They  were  empty  candle  boxes,  or 
other  chance  receptacles,  with  the  proprie 
tor's  name  rudely  lettered  on  one  end ;  and 
all  were  open  as  birds'  nests  to  the  curios 
ity  of  a  wayfaring  public.  In  one  that  they 
passed,  which  bore  the  name  of  Joe  Mutter, 
a  druggist's  parcel  was  left,  a  soup  bone,  a 
crumpled  letter,  and  a  loose  brown  paper 
bundle  exposing  a  pair  of  woman's  shoes 


CAPITALISTS  IN  THE   CANON.         107 

sent  to  town  for  "  two  bits'  "  worth  of  cob 
bling. 

"  They  Ve  got  a  sick  baby  at  Mutter's," 
the  driver  remarked.  "  There  comes  the  old 
woman  now,  on  the  lope,  after  that  bottle  of 
doctor's  stuff." 

Philip  was  drowsing  along,  his  hat  pulled 
over  his  eyes,  when  Mosely  began  rummaging 
in  the  boot  again  after  the  mail  "  for  the 
canon  folks."  Philip  straightened  up,  and 
saw  that  they  were  at  the  foot  of  a  long  hill, 
the  black  crests  of  the  lava  bluffs  outcrop 
ping  to  the  right,  to  the  left  only  the  swell 
of  grassy  slopes  cutting  off  the  sky. 

On  his  own  side  of  the  road,  not  two  rods 
away,  sat  Dolly  on  Alan's  pony,  waiting  for 
the  stage. 

"  Ain't  that  just  like  a  woman  ?  "  Mosely 
chuckled.  "Can't  never  remember  which 
side  the  driver  sets  on.  Now  you  '11  have  to 
hand  her  this  newspaper  truck." 

"Where  is  their  post-box ?"  Philip  in 
quired. 

"Don't  have  any.  The  old  man  don't 
like  his  letters  and  things  hung  out  where 
everybody  can  handle  'em." 

"  Could  n't  they  have  a  lock  box  ?  " 

"  Well,  when   folks   are  so  particular  as 


108  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

that,  the  best  way  is  to  come  theirselves.  I 
can't  set  here  and  lock  up  people's  boxes. 
Anything  I  can  chuck  in  without  gittin' 
down  I  don't  mind  botherin'  with." 

Mosely  drew  up  the  horses,  and  clapped 
down  the  brake.  Dolly  forced  the  pony 
close  to  the  fore  wheel  and  held  up  a  leather 
satchel  for  the  mail  which  Philip  had  in 
charge.  She  saw  too  late  how  stupidly  she 
had  placed  herself  on  the  wrong  side,  as  if 
with  intention,  and  gave  him  but  a  cold  rec 
ognition.  He  accepted  it  as  his  meed  for 
complicity  in  the  Summercamp  invasion. 
Meantime,  the  young  people  had  bungled 
the  mail  business,  so  that  a  letter  bearing 
a  London  postmark  fell  in  the  dust  between 
them. 

"  Dear  me,  that 's  an  important  one," 
thought  Dolly,  as  she  jumped  from  her  sad 
dle.  Philip  had  his  foot  upon  the  wheel. 
"  I  '11  catch  you  up  at  the  toll  gate,"  he  said 
to  Mosely,  who  nodded  and  drove  on. 

Dolly,  though  she  was  down  first,  allowed 
Philip  to  hand  her  the  letter,  not  to  cheat 
him  of  his  thanks.  He  fastened  the  post- 
bag  to  the  saddle,  and  stood  at  the  pony's 
head,  expecting  the  pleasure  of  putting  her 
on.  But  the  wise  lassie  had  no  mind  to  at- 


CAPITALISTS  IN  THE   CANON.          109 

tempt  this  delicate  manoeuvre,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  with  a  stranger's  assistance. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  I  'm  used  to  getting  on  by 
myself,"  she  intimated  cheerfully,  as  one  who 
knows  what  she  is  about.  She  gathered  the 
reins  and  placed  her  hands  for  a  spring, 
while  Philip  stood  aside  to  see  her  go  up. 
But  something  happened  :  Modoc  did  some 
thing  at  the  critical  moment  not  in  the  pro 
gramme,  and  instead  of  finding  herself  where 
she  had  expected  to  be,  Dolly  was  hopping 
through  the  dust  on  one  foot,  clinging  with 
both  hands  to  the  saddle,  and  Modoc  was 
steadily  backing  away  from  her.  A  very  little 
of  this  sort  of  exercise  suffices  a  proud  girl 
on  a  warm  day,  with  a  sophisticated-looking 
stranger  for  spectator.  When  Dolly  had 
got  both  feet  once  more  upon  the  ground, 
she  hauled  Modoc  around  with  a  vicious  pull, 
and  stood  against  his  shoulder,  trembling 
with  a  mixture  of  excitements,  but  ready 
now  for  assistance  —  not  that  she  could  not 
have  mastered  the  pony  easily  had  she  been 
alone. 

"  He  is  acting  in  my  interest,"  said  Philip, 
coming  up  and  making  Modoc's  acquain 
tance  with  a  horseman's  touch.  "  Shall  we 
try  it  now  ?  "  He  dropped  into  the  proper 


110  THE   CHOSEN    VALLEY. 

attitude,  and  offered  his  right  hand  :  it  had 
a  new,  light-colored  seal  leather  glove  upon 
it.  But  now  Dolly  hung  back,  blushing  and 
weak  with  the  ordeal  before  her.  Philip 
might  have  given  a  hundred  guesses;  he 
could  never  have  come  near  the  cause  of  her 
sudden  misery.  She  had  put  on  that  morn 
ing  her  worst  shoes,  —  her  tan  buskins,  of 
all  things,  for  riding,  —  and  had  hurried 
away  without  changing  them ;  they  were 
scoured  by  the  rocks,  and  whitened  by  alkali 
dust.  How  could  she  place  a  foot  so  dis 
gracefully  shod  into  the  faultless  hand  held 
out  to  receive  it  with  that  particular  air  of 
homage  so  new  and  confusing?  The  con 
trast  was  too  much  !  It  took  away  all  Dolly's 
nerve  for  the  critical  attempt,  and  though 
she  knew  quite  well  in  theory  what  was  to  be 
done,  the  affair  went  off  badly.  Indeed, 
without  going  into  details,  it  could  hardly 
have  been  worse,  from  a  bashful  novice's 
point  of  view. 

Dolly  withdrew  her  weight  from  Philip's 
shoulder.  He  gave  the  rein  tenderly  into 
her  hand,  murmuring  apologies,  he  hardly 
knew  for  what,  unless  that  he  could  not  feel 
as  unhappy  as  she  looked,  nor  quite  regret 
her  sweet  awkwardness.  Dolly  rode  home 


CAPITALISTS   IN  THE   CANON.          HI 

burning  with  the  resolution  to  get  a  quiet 
hour  with  Alan  behind  the  corral  at  once, 
and  to  make  him  teach  her  the  trick  of 
mounting  from  the  ground  beyond  peradven- 
ture  of  accidents.  As  for  the  tan  buskins, 
she  put  them  into  the  kitchen  range  before 
she  went  to  dress  for  lessons,  Margaret  pro 
testing  there  was  "  wear  in  them  yet,"  and 
asking  if  shoes  grew  on  the  bushes,  that  she 
could  afford  to  be  so  reckless. 


VII. 

A   DIFFERENCE   OF   TASTE   IN   JOKES. 

HAD  Alan  only  spoken  on  one  of  those 
two  or  three  happy  days  before  the  London 
letter  came  !  But  a  tendency  to  mischance 
of  one  sort  or  another  was  characteristic  of 
the  boy's  headlong,  sanguine  temperament. 
The  good  moment  passed,  and  a  change  in 
the  household  atmosphere  created  a  new  bar 
rier  between  him  and  his  father. 

Dolly  had  ridden  home  at  the  top  of  Mo- 
doc's  speed,  to  make  up  for  all  foolish  de 
lays  ;  for  Dunsmuir  knew  to  a  moment  how 
long  it  took  a  rider  to  meet  the  stage,  and 
was  ever  on  the  watch  for  its  distant  wheels 
and  the  messenger's  return.  She  gave  him 
the  packet,  and  went  to  her  room  to  make  her 
self  neat  for  lessons.  In  the  dining-room 
Alan  joined  her,  loitering  behind,  his  eyes 
still  upon  his  half  learned  task.  They  knew 
that  something  was  amiss  from  the  answer 
that  their  father  gave  to  Dolly's  knock  :  - 

"  Excused  for  to-day.  I  have  some  busi 
ness  to  attend  to." 


A  DIFFERENCE    OF   TASTE   IN  JOKES.     113 

His  step  was  not  heard  on  the  porch  at 
his  usual  hour  for  exercise.  Dolly,  water 
ing  her  roses  outside  the  study  window  when 
the  house  shadow  fell  that  way,  heard  him 
tramping  about  the  room  and  pronouncing 
words  to  himself  in  a  deep,  perturbed  voice. 
At  dinner  the  young  people  stood  waiting 
for  him  to  take  the  head  of  the  table. 

"  Margaret,  will  you  ask  him  if  he  's  com 
ing  ?  He  never  minds  you,"  Dolly  pleaded. 

Margaret  sighed,  and  smoothed  her  hair 
back  from  her  flushed  face,  and  laid  aside 
her  kitchen  apron  before  knocking  at  the 
study  door. 

"  Will  the  denner  wait,  sir,  till  you  're  by 
wi'  your  writing  ?  "  she  asked  when  he  had 
shortly  bidden  her  "  Come  !  " 

"  What !  is  it  dinner  ?  Let  the  children 
sit  down  without  me.  Margaret,  which  of 
the  men  go  to  town  to-morrow  ?  "  It  was 
the  day  before  the  Fourth. 

"  Why,  sir,  I  think  they  '11  all  be  going 
but  Job." 

"  Tell  Job  that  Long  John  may  stop  at 
the  cabin,  and  Job  is  to  come  for  me  with 
the  buckboard  at  nine  to-morrow  morning. 
We  shall  be  back  early.  John  may  have 
his  evening  in  town." 


114  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Will  that  be  all,  sir  ?  " 

"  That  is  all,  thank  you,  Margaret." 

"  Wad  ye  eat  a  bittie  if  I  fetch  it  entil  ye 

—  just  a  morsel,  to  tak'  the  bluid  from  the 
head  ?    Will  ye  no  ?  "  she  pressed  him,  with 
motherly  anxiety. 

"  Shut  the  door,  and  don't  stand  there 
bletherin'  !  "  Dunsmuir  shouted. 

Nevertheless,  an  hour  later  the  hand  of 
Margaret  noiselessly  obtruded  a  tray  into 
the  room  ;  on  it  was  a  dish  of  iced  tomatoes 
with  a  mayonnaise,  a  plate  of  thin  bread  and 
butter,  a  slice  or  two  of  cold  boiled  ham, 
and  a  bottle  of  beer.  When  the  tray  was 
brought  away,  Margaret,  who  had  stayed  to 
do  some  ironing  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
saw  with  triumph  that  her  offering  had  not 
been  rejected. 

\  "  When  he  's  that  way,"  she  said  to  Dolly, 
"  he  's  just  like  a  fashious  wean  ;  he  disna 
want  a  thing  named  to  him." 

She  repeated  to  no  one  her  master's  orders 
for  the  morning  ;  all  that  he  wished  said  he 
would  prefer,  she  knew,  to  say  himself.  And 
so  it  happened  that  Alan  went  off  at  sunrise 
on  his  own  scheme  of  pleasure  for  the  day, 

—  having  helped  himself  to  a  cold  breakfast 
in  the  pantry,  —  not  knowing  that  his  father 


A  DIFFERENCE   OF   TASTE  IN  JOKES.     115 

was  bound  for  the  town,  like  himself.  Alan 
had  one  or  two  acquaintances  who  were  to 
take  part  in  the  procession  of  the  "  Hor- 
niquebriniques."  He  had  been  urged  to 
choose  a  character  and  to  join,  but,  in  his 
usual  way,  it  was  at  the  last  moment  and 
without  premeditation  that  he  decided  to 
do  so.  His  arm  was  but  just  well.  Except 
for  the  stolen  joy  now  and  then  of  a  wild 
moonlight  gallop,  life,  according  to  his  ideas, 
had  been  a  steady  grind.  He  had  never  ac 
knowledged  his  father's  right  to  condition 
him  as  to  the  use  of  his  own  horse.  As  a 
matter  of  principle,  then,  he  was  holding  out, 
and  cultivating,  meanwhile,  a  sentiment  of 
injury  to  strengthen  his  resolution. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  stopped  at 
Button's  ranch  and,  assuming  the  owner's 
consent,  borrowed  an  old  mule  of  Job's 
called  Susan.  He  also  helped  himself  to  one 
or  two  articles  found  in  the  cabin,  with  which 
to  piece  out  his  costume  for  the  part  he  had 
chosen  in  the  Horniquebriniques.  As  in  the 
far  West  this  humorous  dramatization  is  not 
a  common  feature  of  the  day  we  celebrate,  a 
few  words  of  description  may  help  to  explain 
its  intense  attractiveness  to  lads  of  Alan's 
age.  It  is  a  procession  of  mummers,  masked 


116  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

or  otherwise,  on  horseback,  afoot,  or  in  floats, 
who  burlesque  in  dumb  show  the  prominent 
characters  and  institutions  of  the  town,  set 
ting  forth  in  a  rough  extravaganza  their 
weaknesses  in  the  popular  eye.  The  costumes 
are  ridiculous,  the  wit  is  coarse,  the  per 
sonal  hits  more  than  a  little  cruel.  Yet 
the  drolling  seldom  fails,  in  one  way  or  an 
other,  to  make  its  point,  and  the  whole  exhi 
bition  is  not  without  a  rude,  poignant  signifi 
cance  from  the  moral  point  of  view. 

Dunsmuir  and  Job  were  making  way 
slowly  through  the  crowd.  They  were  en 
deavoring  to  gain  the  corner  near  the  office 
of  Marshall  &  Kead,  Dunsmuir's  lawyers, 
but  they  were  too  late.  The  Horniquebri- 
niques  had  started,  the  crowd  backing  down 
before  them ;  there  was  nothing  for  it  now 
but  to  haul  up  by  the  sidewalk  until  the  fun 
had  rolled  by.  Mock  musicians,  calling 
themselves  the  City  Band,  marched  ahead  of 
the  procession,  performing  with  cow  bells, 
tinware,  and  Chinese  instruments  of  sound. 
The  humor  was  here  so  overpowering  as 
fairly  to  drown  its  own  applause. 

Dunsmuir,  who  was  chewing  the  cud  of 
his  last  and  bitterest  disappointment,  was 
somewhat  grimly  disposed  toward  the  day's 


A  DIFFERENCE    OF   TASTE   IN  JOKES.     117 

festivities.  He  took  little  notice  of  the  mob, 
as  it  screeched  and  rattled  and  caracoled  by ; 
but  as  the  nuisance  seemed  to  abate,  Job 
spoke  to  him,  calling  his  attention  to  a  pass 
ing  group  which  the  crowd  was  then  cheer 
ing.  He  looked  up  and  smiled.  He  saw  a 
broad,  stout,  florid  man,  costumed  as  a  river 
nymph  in  pseudo  -  classic  draperies,  looped 
and  girdled  in  such  a  manner  as  to  display 
without  offense  as  much  as  possible  of  his 
muscular  proportions.  He  bore  upon  his 
shoulder  a  Chinese  whiskey  -  jar,  one  of  a 
wholesale  size.  The  vase  was  labeled  "  Nor- 
risson's  Ditch."  The  nymph's  girdle,  which 
must  have  measured  full  fifty  inches,  was 
stuck  full  of  "water-contracts."  Bunches 
of  the  enormous  native  grown  vegetables, 
mingled  with  sage-brush  torn  up  by  the 
roots,  decorated  the  processional  car,  which 
was  drawn  by  four  fat,  patient  oxen  pla 
carded  "  Eastern  Capital."  The  supporting 
figures  of  this  symbolical  group  were  an  im 
pecunious  ranchman  hunting  in  his  ragged 
pockets  for  the  wherewithal  to  pay  his 
water  rates,  and  an  abject  Chinese  vegetable 
gardener,  upon  whose  head  from  time  to 
time  the.  goddess  of  fertility  tilted  a  small 
quantity  of  the  sacred  water  of  the  ditch. 


118  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Broad  as  was  the  joke,  Dunsmuir  found 
no  fault  with  it.  But  now  a  burst  of  ap 
plause  greeted  a  new  actor,  who  silently 
paced  down  the  street  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance  from  the  car  of  Irrigation.  The  little 
boys,  lining  the  gutters  and  packed  into  the 
backs  of  farmers'  wagons,  screeched  their 
comments,  by  way  of  explanation,  to  one 
another:  "Hurrah  for  the  Last  Ditch!" 
shouted  one  precocious  urchin. 

"  Says  I  to  Sandy,  '  Won't  you  lend  me  a  mule  ?  ' 
'  Of  course  I  will,'  says  Sandy," 

sang  another.  Dunsmuir  had  taken  these 
remarks  as  personal  to  himself  until  he 
turned  and  saw  the  quixotic  figure,  intended 
to  portray  in  its  popular  aspect  the  spirit 
of  his  well  known  enterprise.  Both  he  and 
Dutton  had  recognized  Susan,  by  her  ear 
mark,  though  she  had  been  touched  up  ana 
tomically  with  considerable  skill  and  white 
paint  to  the  likeness  of  a  skeleton.  She 
carried  a  slender  rider,  dressed  in  paste 
board  armor,  relic  of  some  amateur  theatri 
cals  in  the  town.  His  face  was  concealed 
by  the  visor  of  his  helmet.  A  sprig  of  sage 
united  with  the  flower  of  the  wild  thistle 
was  his  crest,  and  for  a  spear  he  carried, 
with  some  difficulty,  it  might  be  seen,  an 


A   DIFFERENCE   OF  TASTE  IN  JOKES.     119 

engineer's  measuring  rod,  to  which  a  ban 
neret  was  attached  displaying  the  legend :  — 

DON'T  TKEAD  ON  MY  LOCATION! 

This  was  plain  enough  for  all  to  under 
stand.  The  little  boys  pointed  out  to  one 
another  his  big  tin  sword  labeled  "For 
Jumpers,"  and  discussed  the  meaning  of  the 
device  displayed  upon  his  shield  —  a  spread 
eagle  perched  on  the  rock  gate  of  the  canon, 
with  the  united  crosses  of  St.  George  and  St. 
Andrew  flaming  in  the  sky  above  it.  This 
cognizance  was  a  hasty  inspiration  of  Alan's, 
tossed  off  in  the  fury  of  conception,  in  red 
and  white  and  black  chalks.  Any  compunc 
tions  which  the  son  of  Dunsmuir  might  have 
had  at  the  last  moment  must  have  given  way 
before  the  artist's  hunger  for  appreciation. 
To  do  Alan  justice,  he  had  not  meant  the 
impersonation  for  mockery,  but  merely  as  a 
good-natured  acknowledgment  of  the  well 
known  facts  concerning  his  father's  ditch. 
Above  all,  he  had  not  bargained  for  his 
father  as  a  spectator.  He  trusted  now  to 
spare  him  the  pain  of  a  recognition ;  but  this 
was  not  to  be. 

Susan  had  one  white  and  wicked  eye, 
which  she  turned  back  upon  the  crowd,  now 


120  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

pressing  noisily  upon  her  sedate  progress. 
Hitherto,  whatever  culminating  sense  of  in 
dignity  she  may  have  been  nursing  she  had 
kept  to  herself ;  but  now,  without  apparent 
premeditation,  she  bucked  her  rider  into  the 
middle  of  the  street,  bolted  past  the  ox-team 
which  blocked  the  way  ahead,  and  was  seen  no 
more  in  town  that  day.  The  knight's  helmet 
had  tumbled  awry  with  the  jar  of  his  fall ; 
Alan  was  obliged  to  free  his  head  before  he 
could  see  about  him.  A  dozen  hands  assisted 
him  to  rise,  and  all  the  town  beheld  his 
angry  blushes  and  knew  him  for  his  father's 
son.  Confused  and  bitterly  mortified,  he 
took  the  first  chance  of  escape  which  oc 
curred  to  him  ;  he  ran  and  jumped  aboard 
the  Norrisson  Ditch  car,  and  the  Knight  of 
the  Location  made  his  exit  in  the  tail  end  of 
it,  amongst  the  vegetables,  waving  his  guidon 
and  smiling  in  the  hope  of  seeming  not  to 
care  for  the  shouts  of  laughter  which  fol 
lowed  him.  The  crowd  had  "caught  on," 
with  a  wild  burst  of  cheers,  to  this  last,  most 
unintentional  point  which  Alan  had  supplied, 
with  his  father  as  witness. 


VIII. 

ALAN'S  ORDERS. 

IT  had  been  Alan's  plan  to  remain  for  the 
fireworks  on  the  evening  of  the  Fourth,  but 
his  father's  bitter  face  came  between  him 
and  all  further  thoughts  of  a  "  good  time." 
By  sunset  he  was  at  home.  He  went  straight 
to  his  father's  room,  and  the  two  were  shut 
in  there  together.  Dolly  awaited  anxiously 
the  close  of  the  interview ;  but  when  the 
study  door  opened  at  last,  she  kept  away, 
allowing  Alan  to  escape  without  a  question, 
even  from  her  eyes.  At  the  usual  hour  she 
went  to  bid  her  father  good-night.  He  de 
tained  her  by  the  hand,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  turning  his  face  from  the  lamp. 
It  was  a  close  night,  the  sky  overcast,  the 
atmosphere  heavy  with  an  abortive  effort  to 
rain.  The  wind  —  what  little  there  was  — 
came  up  from  the  plains,  a  false,  baffling 
wind,  reversing  the  currents  of  coolness.  It 
smelled  of  dust  and  wild  sage,  and  in  the 
pauses  between  the  hot,  prickly  gusts,  mos- 


122  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

quitoes  and  moths  swarmed  outside  the  win 
dows.  All  the  screens  were  in  ;  the  lamp, 
lighted  since  dusk,  increased  the  heat,  and 
devoured  the  air  of  the  room. 

"  Dolly,  perhaps  you  will  be  wanting  to 
speak  to  your  brother  to-night,"  said  Duns- 
muir,  wearily.  The  lamp  threw  deep  shad 
ows  over  his  lowered  eyelids  as  he  lay  back 
in  his  great  leather  chair.  It  was  some  time 
since  Dolly  had  seen  him  in  that  strong,  direct 
light,  of  an  evening  ;  she  thought  him  much 
worn,  and  thinner,  even,  since  the  spring. 

"  Has  he  gone  out  of  the  house  ?  "  he  con 
tinued.  "  Say  good-night  to  him.  We  may 
not  see  so  much  of  him  for  a  time."  He 
cleared  his  voice,  which  broke  from  nervous 
ness  or  fatigue,  and  sat  up,  looking  straight 
before  him.  "  I  shall  not  tell  you  his  last 
ill  omened  exploit.  Perhaps  he  will  tell  you 
himself  ;  it  would  cost  him  little,  for  I  doubt 
if  he  sees  what  it  signifies.  I  do  not  know 
how  to  reach  him,  nor  indeed  if  there  be  any 
depth  in  him  to  reach.  I  have  thought  to 
try  him  now  in  earnest.  Since  he  will  not 
work,  either  for  his  love  or  his  fear ;  since 
it  seems  he  neither  understands  nor  respects 
what  we  are  here  to  do,  nor  enters  into  it 
except  in  a  low,  clownish  spirit  —  let  him 


ALAN'S   ORDERS.  123 

work  now  for  his  bread.  To-morrow  he 
goes  below.  He  will  live  at  the  cabin,  get 
his  meals  with  the  men,  and  take  orders 
from  Job.  I  will  have  no  idle  mockers  at 
my  table.  Now,  we  '11  say  no  more  about  it. 
Show  him  all  the  kindness  in  your  heart  — 
but  remember,  you  are  not  to  go  seeking 
him  at  the  cabin.  After  to-night  he  is  one 
of  the  force  till  he  shall  win  home  by  the 
right  road." 

Dolly  blushed  redder  and  redder  until  the 
smarting  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  She  could 
not  speak,  or  she  might  have  had  occasion 
to  repent  her  words ;  neither  would  she 
leave  the  room  while  her  heart  was  swelling 
with  resentment  of  Alan's  punishment.  She 
looked  up  presently  and  smiled,  with  an 
effort  at  firmness,  in  the  face  of  the  judge, 
who  was  also  the  father.  He  thanked  her 
with  a  speechless  look.  He  had  not  thought 
that  anything  could*  have  eased  him  like  that 
smile  of  his  woman-child ;  but  at  midnight, 
sitting  by  himself,  his  thoughts  went  darkly 
back  to  Alan's  offenses,  which  were  all  of  a 
sort  peculiarly  offensive  to  himself. 

"  The  lad  shows  neither  sense  nor  spirit, 
nor  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman,"  he  said 
aloud,  in  the  silence,  which  he  was  accus- 


124  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

tomed  to  address  in  moments  of  deep  spir 
itual  disturbance.  "  Let  him  go  where  plain 
lessons  are  to  be  learned  of  plain  men. 
There  is  not  a  man  in  my  employ  but  can 
set  my  son  the  example  of  all  I  have  failed 
to  teach  him." 

Dolly  waited  up  for  Alan  as  late  as  she 
dared,  for  fear  of  disturbing  her  father,  who 
liked  the  house  to  be  quiet  always  at  the 
same  hour.  It  then  occurred  to  her  that  he 
might  already  have  gone  up  to  his  bed. 
She  went  to  his  room  and  knocked,  but  got 
no  answer.  Her  room  was  next  to  his,  both 
opening  by  low,  casemented  dormers  upon 
the  flattish  slope  of  the  roof.  She  leaned 
out  and  saw  Alan  asleep  on  the  shingles  out 
side  his  window,  his  head  and  arms  resting 
upon  the  sill.  His  attitude  kept  the  ex 
pression  of  the  mood  in  which  he  had  flung 
himself  down.  She  crept  out  upon  the  roof 
and  knelt  beside  him,  ^whispering  a  little 
choking  prayer.  The  heavens  were  dark; 
as  she  lifted  her  face  one  big  drop  of  rain 
fell  upon  her  forehead,  the  sole  birth  from 
that  night-long  wrestling  of  wind  and  cloud. 

Drought  prevailed,  and  toward  morning 
the  sky  slowly  cleared.  The  wind  blew 
Dolly's  curtains  wide  apart.  A  sunbeam, 


ALAN'S   ORDERS.  125 

striking  the  mirror  propped  up  on  her  dres 
sing  table,  made  quivering  rainbow  patches 
on  the  walls.  A  stronger  gust  blew  some 
thing  off  the  window-ledge,  and,  opening  her 
eyes,  she  saw  on  the  matting  a  huge,  over 
blown  giant-of -battles  rose.  Wrapped  about 
the  stem  was  a  folded  paper  which  explained 
itself. 

I  am  not  going  to  the  cabin  to  take  orders 
from  my  father's  men.  I  '11  pitch  myself 
off  the  bluffs  first.  Father  has  been  down 
on  me  this  long  while,  so  I  may  as  well  take 
myself  off.  They  need  not  look  for  me  in 
the  river,  nor  in  the  low  places  in  town.  I 
am  not  going  to  play  the  fool,  so  no  one 
need  worry ;  and  when  I  can  show  a  decent 
bit  of  a  record  may  be  I  will  come  home. 
Good-by,  Dolly;  say  good-by  to  good  old 
Peggie.  You  are  the  ones  who  will  miss 
me.  If  ever  I  come  back,  it  will  be  for 
your  sakes.  I  wasn't  asleep  when  you 
kissed  me  last  night.  I  did  n't  mind  it,  but 
I  did  n't  want  to  talk.  Yours  ever, 

ALAN. 

P.  S.  I  shall  not  use  my  father's  name 
until  he  takes  back  some  things  he  has  said. 
So  you  need  n't  go  through  the  papers  look- 


126  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ing  for  news  of   one  Alan   Dunsmuir,  for 
there  's  "  nae  sic  "  a  person. 

With  much  hesitation,  on  account  of  its 
flippant  tone,  Dolly  showed  her  father  this 
message.  Dunsmuir  devoured  the  words  with 
but  one  thought ;  it  was  little  to  him  now, 
the  lad's  truculence  or  the  spirit  in  which  he 
bore  himself  under  correction.  The  one 
agonized  question  pierced  through  all  that 
could  wait : 

"  My  son,  where  is  he  ?  " 

They  traced  him  to  town,  where  he  and 
Modoc  were  well  known.  He  had  borrowed 
a  small  sum  of  money  of  Peter  Kountze, 
whom  he  had  met  at  the  Green  Meadow, 
and  had  asked  to  be  directed  to  the  camp  of 
engineers  doing  preliminary  work  on  the 
Lower  Snake ;  and  thither,  next  day,  they 
followed  him.  The  search  party  were  in 
formed  that  on  the  previous  day  a  young 
stranger,  light-haired,  tallish,  riding  a  pinto 
pony,  had  come  down  that  way,  asking  for 
Philip  Norrisson,  who  had  never  been  with 
that  division  at  all.  The  transit-man  had 
told  him  that  Philip  Norrisson's  party  was  in 
the  mountains  a  matter  of  two  days'  journey 
from  the  camp.  The  young  stranger,  who 


ALAN'S   ORDERS.  127 

gave  his  name  as  Robert  Allen,  had  slept 
in  camp  and  struck  out  early  next  morning 
for  the  mountains,  expecting  to  reach  tho 
stage  station  at  the  Summit  by  nightfall. 

When  the  question  was  asked,  What  had 
he  talked  about  the  evening  before  ?  it  was 
remembered  that  he  had  said  he  was  intend 
ing  to  try  for  a  position  on  Philip  Norris- 
son's  party;  and  when  objection  had  been 
raised  that  the  reservoir  party  would  soon 
be  through  work  and  back  in  town,  he  had 
replied  that  it  was  no  matter ;  Norrisson  was 
a  good  fellow,  who  would  be  sure  to  put  him 
in  the  way  of  something  he  could  do;  he 
was  ready  for  anything.  Peter  Kountze, 
being  further  questioned,  reported  that 
Alan's  first  plan  had  been  to  strike  for  the 
coast,  where  he  proposed  to  ship  aboard  a 
sealer  bound  for  the  Bering  Sea ;  else  to 
work  his  passage  south  on  a  San  Francisco 
steamer,  and  to  take  the  chances  in  that 
direction.  Peter  modestly  admitted  that  he 
had  tried  to  dissuade  Alan  from  these  pro 
jects,  and,  failing,  had  refused  to  lend  him 
money  more  than  sufficient  to  keep  him  a 
few  days,  if  he  stayed  near  home.  Alan 
had  then  endeavored  to  find  a  purchaser  for 
Modoc,  but  without  succeeding  in  getting 


128  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

anything  like  what  lie  considered  a  fair 
price.  So  it  appeared  his  designs  were 
somewhat  vague  and  fluid  as  yet. 

No  time  was  lost  in  following  up  the  res 
ervoir  party ;  but  neither  at  the  Summit  nor 
from  any  of  Norrisson's  men  could  a  word  be 
learned  of  Alan.  No  one  had  seen  or  heard 
of  him  since  he  turned  his  back  on  the  tents 
and  struck  out  across  the  sage-brush.  At 
the  engineers'  camp  on  the  Lower  Snake 
all  news  of  him  ceased  as  if  the  plains  had 
opened  and  swallowed  him. 

In  Alan's  case  a  wild  figure  of  speech 
had  come  literally  true.  The  boy's  brown 
cheeks  were  whitening  in  one  of  those  ou 
bliettes  which  occur  as  part  of  the  black 
lava  formation  that  is  the  floor  of  the  Snake 
River  plains;  a  floor  continuous  and  solid 
for  the  most  part,  but  strangely  cracked 
and  riven,  undermined  in  places,  and  pierced 
with  holes  resembling  the  bull's-eye  of  a 
vault.  Into  one  of  these  traps  Alan  had 
descended  ;  no  one  seeing  him  go  down  but 
Modoc,  who  stood  long,  and  waited,  and 
tugged  at  his  rope  halter,  and  pawed  the 
dirt  and  stones,  and  neighed  to  his  master 
in  vain. 


IX. 

THE  OUBLIETTE. 

THE  evening  Alan  camped  with  the  en 
gineers  some  of  the  boys  were  telling  stories 
around  the  fire  in  front  of  the  office  tent. 
They  spoke  of  the  wonders  and  mysteries  of 
the  great  lava  desert,  which  mantles  in  dust 
and  silence  all  that  region  north  of  the  Snake 
for  four  hundred  miles  of  its  course  between 
river  and  mountains.  Camp-fire  gossip,  in 
these  arid  lands,  runs  much  upon  discoveries 
of  water,  as  in  the  mountains  of  the  same 
region  it  runs  upon  rich  finds  of  gold.  One 
of  the  boys,  who  had  been  a  stock-herder, 
told  of  a  pool  or  well  in  the  heart  of  the 
Black  Lava,  the  water  of  which  was  fresh, 
though  defiled,  at  the  time  of  his  discovery, 
by  carcasses  of  dead  cattle ;  the  poor  beasts, 
mad  with  thirst,  had  crowded  upon  it  when 
all  the  streams  were  frozen,  and  perished 
through  overweighting  the  ice  which  cov 
ered  the  pool.  The  depth  of  it  was  un 
known.  It  was  said  to  go  down  to  the  level 


130  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

of  that  fabled  underground  valley  of  the 
Snake,  where,  beneath  the  lava  crust,  im 
prisoned  streams,  identical  in  source  with 
the  river  above,  were  tunneling  their  way  to 
daylight. 

It  was  said  that  in  certain  places  these 
subterranean  waters  gushed  out  from  be 
neath  the  lava  bluffs  in  fountains  of  white 
foam,  bringing  fertility  to  some  chosen  val 
ley,  located,  perhaps,  by  a  refugee  Mormon 
with  a  keen  patriarchal  scent  for  pasture,  or 
a  road-weary  plainsman  who  here  unshipped 
his  wagon-top,  and  turned  loose  his  lean 
stock  and  his  tribe  of  white-headed  children. 
It  was  loosely  ventured  round  the  camp-fire 
that  rich  washings  of  fine  gold  might  be 
gathered  from  the  beds  of  these  hidden 
watercourses,  in  pot  holes  or  crevices  where 
the  sluicings  of  ages  had  been  collecting. 

Alan's  eyes  grew  big  at  these  tales.  He 
asked  many  questions ;  in  particular  why 
these  exciting  presumptions  had  never  been 
put  to  the  proof.  He  was  told  that,  in  all 
probability,  until  that  region  had  been  scien 
tifically  explored  they  were  incapable  of 
proof.  The  few  doors  which  opened  into 
that  mysterious  cellarage  were  dismal  traps 
not  easy  to  find ;  and  those  best  acquainted 


THE   OUBLIETTE  131 

with  the  country  were  shy  of  meddling  with 
its  secrets.  The  river  itself  had  a  sinister 
reputation.  The  Indians  never  trusted  their 
naked  bodies  to  its  flood ;  no  old  plainsman 
could  be  induced  to  pull  off  his  shirt  and 
plunge  into  the  Snake,  nor  would  he  suffer  a 
"  tenderfoot "  to  do  so  in  his  presence  with 
out  earnest  remonstrance  and  warning. 

Another  of  the  boys  claimed  to  be  the  dis 
coverer  of  a  cave  which  he  compared  to  a 
vast  sunken  jug.  He  had  come  upon  it  acci 
dentally,  riding  as  messenger  from  camp  to 
camp;  had  stopped  only  long  enough  to 
drop  a  stone  down  the  pit-dark  hole,  where 
all  was  silence  and  airless  night.  The  depth, 
from  the  sound,  had  been  something  awe 
some.  Later,  with  two  comrades,  he  had 
searched  for  the  "jug"  over  every  foot  of 
the  bare  plain  where  he  had  tried  to  locate 
it  by  memory.  They  had  ridden  from  town 
equipped  with  ropes  and  candles  ;  but  not 
that  day  nor  ever  afterward  had  he  found 
the  lost  entrance  to  the  cave.  It  had  re 
lapsed  into  the  mystery  that  broods  over  the 
desert,  the  silence  which  it  keeps,  though 
the  ear  of  man  is  ever  at  its  lips. 

The  trend  of  the  Great  Snake  River  plains 
is  distinctly  toward  the  west.  That  way  the 


132  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

mountains  open  to  welcome  the  warm  winds 
from  the  coast,  which  temper  the  winters  of 
all  that  inland  region.  As  summer  advances 
and  drought  encamps  upon  the  land,  the  vis 
iting  winds  are  succeeded  by  local  breezes 
which  blow  with  the  regularity  of  day  and 
night.  It  is  then  the  great  air  currents,  ris 
ing  from  the  burning  face  of  the  desert, 
beckon  to  the  mountain  winds,  and  as  punc 
tual  as  a  sea  breeze  they  come  whooping 
down  at  night  through  canons  and  passes  of 
the  foothills.  No  sleeper,  upon  the  ground 
or  under  heated  house  roofs,  but  is  grateful 
for  these  night  winds;  no  sunburned  trav 
eler,  beneath  the  bright  stars  of  the  desert, 
but  feels  his  strength  renewed,  bathed  in 
that  steady,  balmy  tide  of  coolness. 

Alan  rode  out  of  camp  after  such  a  night 
of  solid  sleep,  very  different  from  the  same 
night  which  his  father  had  watched  out  in 
the  canon.  It  was  the  time  of  perfect  equi 
librium  which  comes  twice  in  the  twenty-four 
hours,  once  after  sunrise  and  again  about 
the  setting  of  the  sun.  The  silence  of  the 
desert  was  unbroken  by  bird  or  breeze  or 
sound  of  footsteps,  excepting  the  steady 
clink  and  shuffle  of  Modoc's  hoofs  getting 
over  the  ground  in  excellent  cayuse  fashion. 


THE   OUBLIETTE.  133 

The  little  horse  was  at  home ;  his  ears  were 
pricked  forward,  his  eye  keen  for  the  track 
less  way  he  knew  so  well.  He  kept  edging 
northward  toward  the  pass  between  the  low, 
black  buttes,  standing  apart  like  gate-posts 
to  the  mountains  ;  between  them  lifted  a 
far,  aerial  vision  of  the  blue  Owyhees,  and 
the  War  Eagle,  wearing  his  crest  of  snow. 
The  face  of  the  plain  was  featureless  and 
wan.  There  is  but  one  color  to  this  desert 
landscape  —  sage-green,  slightly  greener  in 
spring,  and  grayer  in  summer,  with  a  sifting 
of  chrome  dust.  In  winter  it  is  most  im 
pressive  under  a  light  fall  of  snow,  not 
heavy  enough  to  hide  the  slight  but  signifi 
cant  configuration  of  the  ground,  yet  white 
enough  to  throw  into  relief  the  strange 
markings  of  black  lava,  where  it  crops  out, 
or  lies  scattered,  or  confronts  the  traveler  in 
those  low,  flat-headed  buttes,  so  human,  so 
savage,  in  their  lone  outlines,  keeping  watch 
upon  the  encroachments  of  travel. 

Alan  had  been  in  the  saddle  since  seven 
o'clock,  and  it  was  now  noon.  He  was  look 
ing  about  for  a  good  spot  where  Modoc 
might  pick  a  little  grass  while  he  ate  his 
lunch.  Nothing  more  quickly  catches  the  eye 
in  an  uncivilized  region  than  a  bit  of  painted 


134  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

wood.  Alan  could  not  have  passed  by  with 
out  seeing  a  broken  wagon  tongue  aban 
doned  in  the  sage-brush  ;  and  this  one  had 
the  peculiarity  of  a  new  rope  cleverly  knotted 
about  the  middle  of  it.  The  end  of  the  rope 
disappeared  in  the  ground.  Alan  stopped 
to  investigate  this  mystery.  To  his  inordi 
nate  delight  he  found  that  he  was  kneeling 
at  the  lip  of  one  of  those  dry  wells  —  per 
haps  the  "  jug "  itself.  No  consideration 
known  to  the  mind  of  a  boy  could  have  de 
terred  him  from  attempting  to  go  down.  He 
took,  however,  a  few  simple  precautions.  He 
made  fast  his  pony  to  a  stout  sage  stump. 
Modqc  stood  well  as  a  rule,  but  his  heart  was 
traveling  northward,  and  his  legs  might  be 
tempted  to  follow.  Alan  then  tried  the  rope  ; 
the  knots  held.  The  thought  did  strike  him, 
with  a  slight  chill,  What  has  become  of  the 
man  who  tied  those  knots  ?  He  leaned  his 
face  above  the  hole  and  shouted ;  he  would 
have  been  surprised  indeed  had  he  received 
an  answer.  He  gathered  stones  and  tried 
the  depth  by  the  sound  of  their  fall.  It  was 
deep,  but  not  so  appallingly  deep,  and  the 
bottom,  from  the  sound,  was  perfectly  dry. 
Of  the  shape  or  nature  of  the  walls  he  could 
learn  but  little,  because  of  their  size  and  the 


THE   OUBLIETTE.  135 

smallness  of  the  orifice.  He  pulled  up  the 
rope ;  it  was,  at  a  guess,  a  twenty-foot 
braided  lariat,  with  a  second  longer  rope 
spliced  to  the  end  of  it :  fifty  feet,  at  the 
most,  would  cover  the  length  of  that  swing 
ing  tether.  He  now  collected  a  bundle  of 
sage  sticks  for  torches,  small  ones  to  light 
quickly  and  larger  ones  to  burn  longer. 
These  he  tied  together  into  a  fagot,  which 
he  dropped  down  the  hole.  To  provide 
against  accident  to  the  precious  bundle  he 
fastened  a  torch  stick  to  his  belt.  Matches 
he  had  with  him,  but  he  felt  in  his  pocket  to 
make  sure.  He  took  pride  in  these  precau 
tions,  so  sensible  did  they  strike  him,  so  ex 
perienced  and  business-like.  His  heart  beat 
with  expectation  great  and  vague.  Modoc 
watched  his  master  restively  ;  but  without  a 
glance  at  his  pony,  or  a  farewell  pat,  Alan 
put  both  feet  into  the  hole,  and  his  head  was 
soon  below  the  roots  of  the  sage-brush. 

When  he  had  lowered  himself  about  ten 
feet,  his  body  began  to  oscillate  with  a  slow, 
irregular,  sickening  motion.  He  felt  himself 
miserably  detached.  He  struck  out  with  his 
feet,  hoping  to  touch  the  sides  of  the  vault ; 
but  he  had  now  reached  the  bilge,  and  kick 
ing  did  but  aggravate  the  spiral  movement, 


136  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

which  became  more  pronounced  and  confus 
ing  as  the  rope  lengthened  above  him.  In 
another  moment  his  toes  touched  the  bundle 
of  torch  sticks,  his  stretched  muscles  sub 
sided,  and  he  stepped  free  upon  the  floor  of 
the  cave.  When  a  momentary  dizziness  had 
passed  he  looked  up  and  saw  the  light  of 
day  above  his  head  —  a  small,  white  star 
which  shed  no  rays,  but  rather  increased  by 
contrast  the  palpable  effect  of  the  darkness 
into  which  he  had  dropped  as  into  another 
element. 

He  made  haste  to  light  his  torch.  The 
flame  spluttered  and  flared ;  he  looked  about 
him,  and  saw,  to  his  horror,  that  he  was  not 
alone  in  the  cave.  The  man  who  tied  the 
knots  had  been  watching  him  from  the  mo 
ment  his  body  had  darkened  the  hole.  Alan 
had  seen  Juan  Pacheco  the  homicide  only 
once,  by  moonlight,  at  long  rifle  range ;  he 
knew  not  a  feature  of  him,  but  he  was  cer 
tain  that  it  was  he,  the  yellow  Mexican, 
crouched  upon  the  floor  of  the  cave  pointing 
a  Winchester  in  his  face.  Pacheco,  if  he  it 
were,  seemed  to  recognize  his  visitor.  He 
smiled  a  cruel,  half-breed  smile,  displaying  a 
bad  set  of  wrinkles  around  the  corners  of  his 
mouth. 


THE  OUBLIETTE.  137 

"  Ven  aca ! "  he  commanded  quietly. 
Alan  moved  away  from  the  hole. 

"  How  many  more  come  ?  " 

"  No  one,"  said  Alan.     "  I  am  alone." 

Pacheco  looked  as  if  he  did  not  believe 
him.  A  moment  passed  in  silence,  Pacheco 
listening,  Alan  breathing  quick  and  hard. 

"  Hold  up  the  light !  Mas  arriba!  " 

Alan  held  up  his  torch  in  both  hands  as 
high  as  he  could,  and  Pacheco  went  through 
his  clothes,  taking  from  him  his  pistol,  his 
cartridge  belt,  and  his  precious  matches. 

"Sst!  What  is  that?" 

Modoc,  stamping  on  the  hard  baked 
ground,  was  calling  to  his  master  with  a 
loud,  cheerful  whinny. 

"It  is  my  pony,  poor  brute ;  he  wants 
me,"  Alan  explained. 

"  It  is  a  good  brute.  You  have  tied  him  ? 
Bueno,  muy  bueno  !  " 

Alan  did  not  know  then  why  Pacheco 
should  have  called  it  good ;  but  afterward  he 
knew.  He  explained  how  he  had  come  upon 
the  hole  by  chance  on  his  way  across  the 
plains  northward  to  the  Summit,  which  he 
must  reach  before  dark.  Pacheco  seemed  to 
attend,  but  from  his  face  Alan  could  gather 
nothing  of  the  effect  of  his  words. 


138  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Miguel  Salarsono  —  is  he  dead  ? 

This  was  the  man  Pacheco  had  knifed. 
He  was  dead,  but  Alan  hesitated  at  the 
truth,  which  Pacheco  read  in  his  eyes. 

"  Esta  bieji"  he  said  coolly.  "  They  want 
me.  Where  now  Peter  Kountze  ?  " 

"  In  town  when  I  saw  him  last." 

"  What  day  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Long  time  ago."  Alan  lied,  thinking  it 
would  be  bad  for  him  should  he  confess  to 
having  met  Kountze  the  day  before. 

Again  Pacheco  read  his  face.  He  gave  a 
dissatisfied  grunt.  "  Put  out  your  light," 
said  he. 

"  It  smokes,"  said  Alan,  "  but  it  is  better 
than  no  light." 

"  You  are  with  one  who  knows  his  way," 
said  Pacheco  in  Spanish.  Alan  barely  un 
derstood  him ;  but  he  thought  to  flatter 
Pacheco  by  seeming  to  know  his  language. 

"  I  want  to  look  around,  now  I  'm  down 
here.  Kum  place,  ain't  it?"  he  said,  pre 
tending  to  a  cheerful  curiosity  he  was  far 
from  feeling. 

"  You  shall  have  plenty  time." 

"  And  plenty  light,  too,  I  hope." 

Pacheco  cut  him  short,  roughly  assisting 
him  to  put  out  his  torch.  He  undid  from 


THE   OUBLIETTE.  139 

about  his  waist  a  greasy  silk  sash,  gave  Alan 
one  end  of  it,  and  kept  the  other  himself. 
"  Anda !  "  he  commanded.  "  POT  aqui" 
and  he  led  on,  Alan  following  at  the  girdle's 
length  as  best  he  could.  Whether  they  were 
traversing  a  series  of  chambers  connected  by 
passages,  or  one  long  gallery  of  varying 
width  and  height,  Alan  could  surmise  only 
by  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  on  the  rock 
floor,  which  sometimes  rang  as  between  lofty 
walls  and  again  fell  dull  and  flat.  He  con 
cluded  presently  that  he  was  getting  his  un 
derground  eyesight,  else  the  darkness  was  no 
longer  absolute.  Pacheco  called  a  halt,  and 
changed  the  order  of  march,  putting  Alan 
before  him.  The  roof  here  descended  to 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  floor.  Alan  could 
make  out  the  shape  of  a  low  opening  like 
the  entrance  to  a  drift,  defined  against  a 
faint  light  beyond.  They  went  down  upon 
hands  and  knees,  and  crawled  forward,  along 
a  narrow  incline  -which  rose  to  the  level  of 
what  by  contrast  seemed  a  fair  chamber ; 
round,  like  a  congealed  bubble  in  the  rock  ; 
not  lighted,  yet  something  less  than  dark, 
owing  to  a  crack  in  the  roof,  deep,  but  nar 
row  as  a  spear,  through  which  a  gleam  of 
white  daylight  stole  into  the  cell. 


140  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  make  you  welcome,  Senor  Caballero, 
to  this  your  house,''  said  Pacheco,  as  they 
stood  upright,  in  the  dim  oubliette,  facing 
each  other. 

Alan  struggled  to  be  calm  and  to  take  the 
words,  spoken  in  Spanish,  as  the  language 
of  compliment,  at  the  worst  as  a  grim  joke 
befitting  the  place. 

"  MucJias  gracias,  senor,"  he  responded, 
with  a  smile  as  wan  as  the  imprisoned  ray  of 
daylight  that  touched  his  face.  "  It  is  a  very 
good  house.  You  are  living  here  secreto,  re- 
tirado,  I  understand.  I  can  keep  dark.  It 
shall  be  all  the  same,  I  promise  you."  He 
spoke  slowly,  with  extreme  emphasis,  that 
Pacheco  might  lose  no  word  of  his  mean 
ing.  "  I  swear,  it  shall  be  all  the  same  as  if 
I  had  never  seen  you  here.  The  cave  shall 
be  forgotten.  Understand  ?  " 

"  Si,  si.  All  the  same  —  after  you  get 
out."  Pacheco  grinned  significantly,  and 
Alan's  heart  turned  over  in  his  breast. 

Beyond  the  cur-like  upward  glance  of  his 
covert  eye  and  his  occasional  cruel  smile, 
Pacheco's  face  relapsed  into  impassiveness. 
The  man  had  been  villainous  by  torchlight ; 
he  was  ghastly  now  by  the  faint,  white  day 
light,  like  one  on  whom  the  sun  had  not 
shone  for  months. 


THE  OUBLIETTE.  141 

"  How  long  —  how  long,"  Alan  gasped, 
"  have  you  been  down  here  ?  " 

"  The  light  come  fourteen  time  since  the 
night  I  skip,"  said  Pacheco,  glancing  upward 
at  the  crack  in  his  dungeon  roof. 

"Alone?" 

"  A  mis  solas." 

"  Why  don't  you  clear  out  —  vamose  ? 
The  country  is  big." 

"  It  is  very  big,  senor ;  and  I  have  no 
horse." 

"  Where  is  your  own  horse  ?  " 

"  He  play  out,  three  miles ;  he  drop  in 
the  sage-brush.  I  am  here  very  safe;  by 
and  by  pretty  hungry."  He  grinned  and 
shrugged  expressively.  His  philosophy  of 
suffering  promised  as  little  pity  for  another 
as  he  wasted  upon  himself. 

"  Good  God,  man  !  does  no  one  know  you 
are  here?" 

"  One  too  many  know  I  am  here,"  said 
Pacheco,  ominously,  laying  his  dark  fore 
finger  on  Alan's  breast.  "  You  make  you'- 
self  one  little  fool  when  you  come  down 
that  hole." 

"  I  can  go  up  again.  I  must  go,  Pacheco. 
My  horse  is  dry.  No  water  since  morning." 

"  Poco,  poco  tiempo.  When  it  is  dark,  I 
go  up.  I  give  him  water," 


142  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  But  I  Ve  twenty-five  miles  to  go  before 
dark."  Alan  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 

"Sit  down,  hombrecito.  Rest  yoji'self. 
You  have  hunt  ine  like  jack-rabbit ;  now 
you  have  find  me  in  my  hole.  What  's  the 
matter  with  that?" 

"  God  in  heaven,  Pacheco,  my  people  will 
go  mad  !  "  the  boy  shouted,  forgetting  that 
no  one  would  expect  him  that  night  or  any 
night,  that  his  absence  was  now  a  fact  ac 
cepted  by  all  who  knew  him  above  ground. 
This  last  cold  detail  of  his  situation  closed 
upon  him  like  the  silence  that  follows  the 
echo  of  a  dungeon  door.  He  flung  himself 
upon  the  Mexican  with  a  captive's  madness, 
throwing  away  every  hope  of  pity,  and  grap 
pled  with  him  as  his  open  enemy. 

Pacheco  carried  a  knife  concealed  at  the 
back  of  his  neck  with  which  he  might  have 
finished  the  encounter,  but  murder  was  no 
part  of  his  present  intention  toward  his 
prisoner.  He  closed  with  the  lad,  hugging 
him  in  his  arms,  and  the  pair  rocked  to  and 
fro  and  staggered  about  the  dim  place  till 
Alan  went  down,  dragging  Pacheco  with 
him  :  the  back  of  Alan's  head  struck  the 
floor  of  the  cave  with  a  sickening  dunt. 
Pacheco  freed  himself,  but  Alan  lay  still. 


X. 

THE    WHITE    CROSS. 

DAYLIGHT  had  faded  from  the  crevice 
when  Alan  came  to  himself.  The  cave  was 
perfectly  dark.  He  started  up  on  his  elbow, 
but  fell  back,  giddy  and  sick  and  sore.  It 
was  some  moments  before  he  could  summon 
courage  to  test  the  silence.  No  answer  came 
to  his  first  hoarse  call ;  yet  Pacheco  might 
be  in  the  outer  cave.  He  called  again,  and 
listened,  holding  his  breath,  and  hearing 
nothing  but  his  heart  beating  like  a  clock. 
He  shouted,  he  screamed,  he  sobbed,  as  a 
child  awakened  by  a  frightful  dream  that 
cannot  make  itself  heard. 

He  lay  all  night  at  the  mercy  of  hideous 
doubts  and  speculations  which  only  the  morn 
ing  could  set  at  rest.  Had  Pacheco  gone  ? 
Had  he  left  the  rope  ?  His  flesh  rose  in  chills, 
and  again  he  burned  and  stifled  with  the  tor 
ture  of  these  questions.  In  his  tossings  on 
the  floor  of  the  cave  his  hand  had  struck 
against  a  pail,  heavy  with  a  delicious  weight 


144  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

of  ice-cold  water.  He  had  splashed  it  over 
himself  in  his  eagerness,  dragging  it  toward 
him.  In  the  morning  he  made  a  terrible 
discovery.  All  Pacheco's  little  store  of  food 
and  candle  had  been  set  forth  in  plain  sight 
for  his  successor's  use  ;  but  the  matches  were 
ruined.  Alan  had  drenched  them  in  his 
transport  of  drinking  in  the  night.  For  a 
moment  he  gave  way  again,  clasping  his 
head,  and  sobbing,  and  rolling  about  on  the 
floor. 

He  felt  sick  and  bruised,  and  silly  with 
weakness.  His  eyes  ached,  his  throat  and 
jaws  were  sore,  his  hair  incrusted  with  blood 
from  the  cut  on  his  scalp  ;  but  no  bones 
were  broken,  and  he  knew  that  food  would 
strengthen  his  heart.  As  he  crawled  about, 
gathering  materials  for  a  breakfast,  he  made 
a  new  and  momentous  discovery.  Pacheco 
had  left  him  a  letter,  of  explanation,  perhaps, 
or  direction.  But  when  Alan  came  to  ex 
amine  this  sole  link  between  him  and  the 
living,  he  found  that  he  could  not  decipher 
it.  He  had  persuaded  Pacheco  too  well  of 
his  linguistic  acquirements ;  the  letter  was  in 
Spanish,  mongrel  Spanish,  brutally  ill-writ 
ten  with  a  pencil  on  a  bit  of  greasy,  wrinkled 
paper  bag  which  had  refused  to  take  the 


THE    WHITE   CROSS.  145 

marks  distinctly.  Alan  could  have  crushed, 
torn  it ;  he  could  have  killed  Pacheco  for 
inventing  this  new  torture.  He  groaned, 
and  put  it  away,  and  struggled  to  swallow 
some  food,  for  a  greater  test  of  his  nerve 
was  before  him.  If  Pacheco  had  left  the 
way  of  escape  open,  why  had  he  written  a 
letter? 

He  had  been  led  into  the  cell  by  the  right- 
hand  wall;  he  took  the  left  going  back. 
One  hand  he  kept  upon  the  rock,  groping 
and  shuffling  forward,  past  angles  and  turns 
which  he  remembered,  till  he  entered  the 
great  chamber  with  its  one  far  bright  star 
of  blessed  daylight  set  in  the  blackness  of  its 
roof.  One  instant  he  hung  back ;  he  dared 
not  look  :  the  next,  suspense  was  past  —  the 
rope  was  gone. 

All  that  day  he  sat  in  the  twilight  of  the 
inner  cell  and  pored  over  the  letter.  Sweat 
broke  out  upon  his  flesh,  the  agony  of  atten 
tion  balked  his  memory,  and  his  mind  refused 
to  act.  The  few  words  that  he  could  read 
held  aloof  in  maddening  incoherency  from 
those  that  were  dark  to  him  :  "  water  — 
the  white  cross  —  the  great  cave  —  twenty 
days  "  —  then  something  about  mi  amiga  ; 
the  noun  was  feminine.  And  then  the  writer 


146  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

signed  himself  — "  with  the  cheek  of  the 
devil !  "  groaned  Alan,  surveying  the  ghastly 
words  of  compliment  to  a  doomed  man, 
"With  great  respect,  Your  servant,  Juan 
Pacheco." 

All  day  he  hammered  his  brain  over  this 
diabolical  message,  and  when  he  could  see 
no  longer  he  sat  in  darkness,  and  its  goblin 
characters  came  out  on  the  strained  wall  of 
vision  and  tortured  him  with  guesses.  He 
fell  asleep  repeating  the  words  that  led  his 
mind  a  weary  dance  far  into  the  night :  the 
white  cross  —  water.  Twenty  days,  twenty 
days,  twenty  days. 

Three  times  the  light  faded  from  the  crack 
and  came  again,  and,  sleeping  or  waking,  the 
word  water  had  become  the  unceasing  pang 
that  haunted  his  consciousness.  He  had 
counted  his  stock  of  food,  and  of  candles, 
which  were  nothing  without  matches,  yet 
might  serve  as  food  should  he  come  to  a  rat- 
like  desperation  in  the  last  stage  of  hunger ; 
but  he  knew  he  should  not  starve  to  death. 
Every  day  while  the  wan  light  lasted  he 
ranged  round  the  walls  of  his  cell ;  search 
ing  crannies  and  crevices  and  spots  of 
shadow,  listening,  sounding  for  hollow  places, 
stamping,  and  sometimes  breaking  out  and 


THE  WHITE   CROSS.  147 

howling  like  a  trapped  animal,  all  in  an 
awful,  breezeless  silence,  never  altering  from 
hour  to  hour,  from  day  to  day.  By  drinking 
sparely,  at  night  and  morning  only,  he  made 
his  precious  pail  last  a  week.  On  the  eighth 
day  he  ate  little,  fearing  to  increase  the 
desire  for  water,  which  had  taken  already 
the  form  of  a  nervous  demand.  The  food 
that  remained  to  him  was  of  a  thirst-pro 
voking  quality  —  a  sack  of  mouldy  pilot- 
bread,  some  pounds  of  dried  salt  beef,  several 
cans  of  cooked  beans,  a  few  dusty,  gritty 
raisins  in  a  paper  bag.  He  had  heard  that 
small,  smooth  pebbles  held  in  the  mouth  pro 
mote  moisture,  and  occupy  the  mind  of  one 
suffering  from  thirst.  On  the  ninth  day  he 
collected  such  pebbles  as  he  could  find  and 
tried  the  effect  of  them,  but  without  much 
enthusiasm  for  the  result. 

On  the  tenth  day  he  made  a  joyful  discov 
ery.  A  greasy  waistcoat  of  Pacheco's  lay 
bundled  in  one  corner  of  the  cell  near  his 
bunk ;  Alan  had  never  touched  it ;  it  had  for 
him  that  personal  association  which  made 
the  sight  of  it  repulsive.  But  this  morning 
he  took  it  up  and  examined  the  pockets  in 
the  sudden  hope  that  he  might  find  a  stray 
match  or  two  left  by  chance  ;  and  he  was 


148  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

not  disappointed.  He  found  a  good  bunch 
of  California  matches  united  on  one  thick 
stem,  which  had  worked  through  a  hole  in 
the  waistcoat  side-pocket,  and  lay  concealed 
between  the  stuff  and  the  lining.  That  day 
he  explored  the  dark  passage  by  candle-light. 
His  tongue  was  so  swollen  that  he  could  no 
longer  swallow  food.  He  had  fever,  and 
could  sleep  but  little,  and  then  was  beset  by 
morbid  dreams.  His  strength  was  fast  go 
ing.  On  the  eleventh  day  he  dragged  him 
self  into  the  outer  cavern,  wondering  at  his 
fatal  mistake  of  wasting  a  whole  day  in  the 
passage,  when  the  letter  had  named  only  the 
caverna  grande.  His  legs  would  not  bear 
him  up  to  make  the  round  of  the  vast  walls ; 
but  he  sat  himself  down  on  the  floor,  and 
lighted  all  his  candles,  placing  them  a  little 
way  off  on  the  floor  in  sockets  of  drip,  that 
he  might  get  their  combined  effect  without 
the  shock  of  it  in  his  eyes,  which  were  tender 
to  the  light. 

His  face  was  as  white  as  the  candles,  his 
bloodshot  eyes  were  sunken  and  wild.  He 
had  picked  at  a  roughness  on  the  side  of  one 
of  his  fingers  till  the  place  was  raw ;  he  was 
picking  at  it  now  as  he  stared  before  him. 
He  had  a  crazed,  broken  sensation  in  his 


THE   WHITE   CROSS.  149 

head  ;  his  mind  labored  and  drifted  heavily. 
He  thought  his  senses  must  be  going  when, 
on  a  space  of  wall  above  him,  where  the 
light  struck  upward  at  a  new  angle,  appeared 
a  sign  chalked  upon  the  rock  in  the  form  of 
a  cross.  Trembling  he  looked  away  at  the 
reality  about  him,  at  the  place  of  his  living 
burial,  and  then  fixed  his  eyes  once  more 
upon  the  spot  where  the  cross  had  appeared. 
It  was  still  there.  And  below,  at  the  meet 
ing  of  the  wall  with  the  floor  of  the  cave, 
there  rested  an  immovable  spot  of  blackness. 
He  shifted  his  lights;  the  shadow  did  not 
move.  It  was  the  opening  of  a  passage  or 
burrow  beneath  the  rock.  Hands  perhaps 
as  weak  as  his  had  scooped  it ;  and  some 
doomed  captive  as  desperate  as  himself  had 
marked  the  spot  with  the  symbol  of  suffer 
ing  and  of  mercy,  in  memory  of  his  release 
from  torment. 

He  crawled  into  the  hole,  keeping  a  lighted 
candle  before  him  ;  only  his  panting  breath 
stirred  the  flame  in  that  lifeless  air.  Creep 
ing  forward  on  his  elbows,  guarding  always 
his  light,  its  soft  ray  fell  upon  a  dark, 
sunken  pool ;  on  the  brink  of  which  he  fell 
on  his  face  and  lapped  like  one  of  Gideon's 
three  hundred. 


150  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

The  agony  was  over.  Imprudence  fol 
lowed,  and  all  the  train  of  effects  resulting 
from  the  nervous  shock  his  system  had  suf 
fered.  He  gained  no  strength  ;  he  lost, 
indeed,  from  day  to  day  ;  and  the  twentieth 
day  was  at  hand.  He  had  made  himself  a 
calendar  of  match  sticks,  which  he  dropped, 
one  each  time  the  light  came  and  went,  into 
an  empty  tin  can,  which  thus  became  the 
repository  of  his  great  hope  and  his  greater 
dread.  When  the  match  sticks  numbered 
nineteen,  Alan  laid  himself  down  beneath 
the  hole  in  the  outer  chamber,  resolved  to 
lie  there  till  rescue  came  or  death.  On  the 
back  of  Pacheco's  letter  he  had  scrawled  a 
few  words  to  his  father,  in  case  deliverance 
should  come  too  late.  Having  eased  himself 
of  this  last  message,  with  a  pail  of  water 
near,  and  such  food  as  he  could  retain  out  of 
the  little  remaining  of  his  poor  stock,  he  lay 
and  watched  out  the  twentieth  day  and  the 
night  that  followed,  not  daring  to  sleep.  An 
other  day  passed,  and  the  light  faded  from  the 
hole,  and  he  prayed  that  he  might  go  before 
the  morning  watch,  for  the  suspense  was  worse 
than  death.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  went  in 
continently  to  sleep.  The  angels  might  waken 
him  if  help  should  come ;  he  could  watch  no 
longer. 


THE   WHITE   CROSS.  151 

In  the  night  a  voice  called  from  above  ;  it 
became  part  of  his  dreams,  and  turned  them 
into  nightmare  ;  the  call  was  repeated  again 
and  again,  but  he  did  not  wake. 

Then,  with  a  prayer  to  Mary  of  the  Mer 
cies,  a  girl,  kneeling  by  the  hole,  bound  her 
long  black  braids  about  her  head,  reefed  her 
skirts,  and,  taking  hold  of  the  rope  she  had 
made  fast,  descended  fearlessly  into  the  cave. 
Pacheco's  friend  had  come. 


XL 

A  TOUCH  OF  NATURE. 

PHILIP'S  return  trip  from  the  mountains 
was  hastened  by  a  letter  from  his  father  re 
questing  his  presence  in  town  on  a  certain 
day  of  the  month.  He  left  his  men  to  bring 
in  the  camp  outfit,  pressing  on  alone  ahead 
of  the  wagons  on  horseback,  and  reaching 
town  well  within  the  stipulated  time,  tired 
as  a  hunter,  but  gay  with  the  thought  of  the 
long  mountain  miles  he  had  made  at  the 
word  of  command.  He  lingered  over  his 
toilet  next  morning,  with  a  keen  zest  for  the 
comforts  of  civilization,  after  three  weeks  of 
gritty  camp  life  in  boots  and  corduroys  and 
crumpled  flannels.  It  was  luxury  to  put  on 
a  silk  shirt  and  to  brush  his  hair  before  a 
triple  mirror.  He  trimmed  the  ends  of  his 
mustache,  taking  all  the  time  which  that 
delicate  operation  deserves ;  he  examined 
critically  the  new  barber's  cut  to  which  he 
had  submitted  himself  the  evening  before 
at  the  Transcontinental.  He  perfected  his 


A    TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  153 

outer  man  deliberately,  in  every  detail,  and 
descended  to  breakfast  in  a  brilliant  humor 
of  expectation  for  whatever  new  turn  of  the 
wheel  had  brought  him  back  again  to  the 
affairs  of  men.  Even  the  little  new  town, 
whose  social  note  had  struck  him  as  so  crude 
and  stridulous,  contrasted  with  the  life  of 
the  hills  had  gained  quite  a  gay,  civic,  im 
portant  air.  He  had  amused  himself  with 
thinking  of  it  the  evening  before,  as  he 
walked  home  by  the  white  light  of  the  elec 
tric  lamps. 

Philip  had  passed  the  ordeal,  spiritual  as 
well  as  physical,  and  was  acclimated  to  the 
western  movement.  His  father  saw  it  in  his 
glance,  in  his  bearing,  as  he  walked  into  the 
room,  and  rejoiced  that  he  could  call  the 
clean,  high-headed  young  fellow  his  son.  He 
would  have  liked  to  cuff  him  about  a  little 
and  to  clap  him  on  the  back,  to  take  some  of 
the  starch  out  of  him  ;  yet  the  starch  was 
well,  so  that  there  was  "  sand  "  underneath. 
Breakfast  at  Mr.  Norrisson's  was  not  a  per 
functory  matter  of  a  roll  and  a  cup  of  coffee, 
but  a  regular  sitting  in  three  courses,  with 
conversation  and  good  appetites.  To  the 
manner  of  this  also  Philip  was  acclimated  ; 
he  needed  no  urging  when  the  third  course 


154  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

came  upon  the  table,  even  when  it  included 
that  ultra- Americanism,  pancakes  hot  from 
the  griddle.  Mr.  Norrisson's  Mexican  cook 
was  a  genius,  at  sixty  dollars  a  month,  and 
could  turn  his  small  dark  hand  to  the  cook- 
ing  of  any  clime.  (It  must  have  been  ob 
served  too  often  to  be  worth  mentioning 
that  men,  when  they  keep  house,  will  always 
have  a  cook,  whether  the  closets  be  cleaned 
or  not.)  It  was  Enrique's  pet  grievance  that 
Wong  was  allowed  to  make  the  coffee  at 
breakfast.  He  listened  at  the  window  of  the 
butler's  pantry  to  hear  his  own  praises  when 
his  creations  were  handed  in,  but  when  he 
heard  praise  of  Wong's  coffee  instead,  he 
swore  strange  oaths  among  his  pots  and 
pans,  making  the  kitchen  hideous  with  their 
clatter.  Hearing  echoes  of  the  din,  Wong 
would  smile  mysteriously,  and  pass  Enrique's 
triumphs  with  sweet  condescension.  It  was 
Enrique's  revenge,  at  breakfast,  to  hasten 
out  to  the  garden  and  to  pick  a  bouquet  for 
the  table,  well  knowing  that  he  alone  of  all 
in  the  house  had  the  touch  for  flowers,  and 
that  Wong's  efforts  were  simply  insufferable. 
It  was  he  who  filled  the  lesser  punch  bowl 
with  roses  or  crisp  nasturtiums  dewy  with 
their  morning  sprinkling  ;  it  was  Wong  who 


A  TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  155 

swore  in  the  depths  of  his  white,  starched 
gabardine  when  he  spied  the  insolent  drops 
on  his  spotless  cloth.  He  would  have  given 
a  month's  wages  for  courage  to  fling  bowl  and 
contents  at  the  head  of  his  fellow-craftsman. 
But  out  of  these  jealousies  professional  and 
racial  came  exceeding  peace  and  perfection 
of  service  to  Mr.  Norrisson.  It  was  his  pol 
icy  that  the  heathen  should  rage  ;  that  out 
of  their  dissensions  he  might  make  profit  to 
himself. 

"  Has  Alan  Dunsmuir  turned  up  yet  ?  " 
Philip  inquired. 

His  father  was  finishing  his  plate  of  Cali 
fornia  peaches.  He  paused  and  mopped 
himself  before  answering ;  he  was  a  critical 
but  not  a  dainty  feeder.  Moreover,  he  did 
not  know  at  first  to  what  the  question  re 
ferred  ;  then  he  remembered. 

"  Why,  of  course,  that  must  have  been 
what  Dunsmuir  meant.  He  excused  him 
self  from  the  dinner  we  gave  Westerhall; 
some  family  matter ;  he  did  n't  put  it  very 
plainly,  but  I  saw  there  was  trouble,  so  I 
did  n't  ask  any  questions.  But  I  remember 
now.  Young  Dunsmuir  was  reported  miss 
ing  about  a  fortnight  ago.  What  has  he 
been  up  to  ?  " 


156  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  don't  know  at  all,"  said  Philip.  "  They 
sent  a  man  after  me  to  inquire  if  he  had 
been  with  my  party.  I  did  not  get  a  very 
clear  idea  what  the  trouble  is,  or  what  they 
are  afraid  of." 

"  Depend  on  it,  if  Dunsmuir  has  had 
trouble  with  his  boy  he  's  the  one  to  blame. 
He  'd  be  sure  to  buckle  the  curb  too  tight. 
You  will  have  to  remember  his  arbitrary 
temper  when  you  come  to  work  with  him. 
However,  you  are  cool  enough,  and  you  have 
a  manner  that  will  flatter  the  old  sachem. 
But  you  must  look  out  and  not  carry  eti 
quette  too  far.  —  We  '11  get  through  with 
Wongy  Pongy  before  we  begin  on  busi 
ness." 

When  the  last  dishes  were  on  the  table, 
Wong  was  ordered  to  tell  Simpson  that  the 
horses  would  not  be  wanted  that  morning. 
"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Norrisson,  "  shall  we 
smoke  here  or  outside  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  comfortable,"  said  Philip, 
helping  himself  to  one  of  his  father's  cigars. 

"  Well,  I  must  tell  you  the  circus  has  be 
gun.  In  fact  it 's  pretty  nearly  over.  We 
have  had  our  season  of  wrath  and  bitterness. 
Dunsmuir  is  not  so  topping  as  he  used  to 
be ;  whether  it  's  this  break  his  boy  has 


A   TOUCH   OF  NATUJtE.  157 

made,  or  what,  he  's  not  the  man  he  was. 
Crotchets  play  the  mischief  with  a  man's 
powers.  Westerhall  arrived,  as  you  know, 
last  week,"  Mr.  Norrisson  went  on.  "  We 
got  together  after  a  few  preliminaries,  and 
we  offered  Dunsmuir  a  slice  of  the  stock. 
But  we  made  it  pretty  plain  that  we  proposed 
to  dispense  with  his  services  as  engineer. 
4  Gentlemen,'  said  he,  '  this  is  a  very  fair 
offer  you  make  me  for  my  resignation.  But 
I  intend  to  build  my  own  canal.  I  have 
staked  my  professional  word  on  the  verity 
and  importance  of  this  work,  and  I  shall  see 
it  done,  and  honestly  done,'  —  mark  the 
point  he  always  makes  of  his  honesty  as 
against  our  supposed  want  of  it,  — '  if  it  be 
the  last  work  of  my  life.  This  may  not 
strike  you  as  business,'  said  he,  '  but  it  is 
where  the  business  hits  me.' 

"  At  our  next  meeting  I  showed  him  that 
he  had  nothing  to  sell.  He  had  shown  his 
hand  to  Westerhall,  and  all  he  had  was  the 
opinion  of  Marshall  &  Read,  his  lawyers ; 
and  on  that  very  opinion  we  based  our  claim. 
Now  there  were  two  clauses  to  it :  Dunsmuir 
read  his  title  by  the  first  clause,  and  we  took 
the  second  and  read  it  just  the  other  way ; 
and  yet  it  was  a  sound,  well-considered  judg- 


158  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ment  by  two  of  the  ablest  men  we  have  out 
here.  It  came  about  to  this :  Dunsmuir's 
claim  was  good  to  build  on  ;  it  was  good  for 
nothing  if  it  lay  idle,  and  we  went  ahead 
and  built  the  canal.  Water  belongs  to  the 
man  who  uses  it.  We  claimed  his  location, 
and  shall  hold  it,  on  the  ground  that  we  are 
ready  to  build  our  canal  now,  while  he  is 
only  pottering  at  a  rate  that  will  not  see  his 
finished  in  half  a  hundred  years.  He  took 
occasion  to  remind  me,  right  there,  that  our 
company's  policy  had  been  one  of  obstruction 
4  unscrupulous  and  persistent,'  else  his  ditch 
might  have  gone  through  years  ago.  And  I 
endeavored  to  show  him  that  it  was  his  policy 
of  antagonism  which  had  antagonized  us ;  that 
he  might  have  gone  in  with  us  had  he  chosen, 
and  saved  all  this  friction  between  us.  Here 
he  shut  up  and  would  say  no  more.  He  had 
got  very  pale,  and  his  hands  shook  as  he 
gathered  up  his  papers.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  n't  slept  for  a  week.  I  wish,  confound 
it,  I  had  known,  or  remembered,  about  this 
trouble  with  his  boy.  Handsome  little  ras 
cal  !  I  used  to  see  him  around  town  cutting 
up  all  manner  of  cowboy  capers  on  that 
spotted  pony  of  his.  What  did  you  say  he 's 
been  up  to  ?  " 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  159 

Philip  explained  again  what  he  knew  of 
the  circumstances. 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  had  got  on  to  it  sooner. 
Dtmsmuir  's  badly  strapped,  I  hear.  I  might 
have  offered  him  some  help  in  the  way  of  his 
search.  Or  we  might  have  waited  a  little  — 
well,  we  could  n't  wait.  Westerhall  under 
stood  there  would  be  trouble,  but  when  we 
came  to  talk  it  over  I  could  see  he  did  n't 
want  to  leave  Dunsmuir  out  in  the  cold ; 
though,  as  I  said  to  him,  a  man  who  won't 
accept  any  terms  but  his  own,  or  any  facts 
but  his  own  as  to  his  real  position,  is  a  diffi 
cult  man  to  deal  with. 

"  '  But  we  must  give  him  something,'  said 
Westerhall.  '  He  is  too  poor  to  get  out  of 
the  country,  you  say,  and  he  is  too  strong  a 
man  to  be  left  in  black  dudgeon  here,  to 
head  every  movement  against  us  in  the  fu 
ture.  He  must  be  included  in  some  way.' 

"  *  How  are  we  going  to  include  him  ? ' 
said  I.  '  We  tried  him  fifteen  years  ago, 
but  he  would  n't  be  included  on  any  reason 
able  basis.  He  stood  off  and  called  us  swin 
dlers.  Now  we  are  jumpers.  It  doesn't 
make  a  happy  family,'  said  I. 

"  '  Give  him  the  work,'  said  Westerhall ; 
and  he  showed  me  there  was  a  feeling  for 


160  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

him  in  London,  where  his  Indian  record  is 
on  the  blue-books ;  and  it  counts  with  them, 
of  course,  that  he  is  an  M.  I.  C.  E.  And 
then  Westerhall  and  I  had  it  for  the  rest  of 
the  day. 

"  But,  as  you  may  have  observed,  I  am  a 
man  of  compromises.  This  is  the  way  I  put 
it  to  myself:  Suppose  we  make  Dunsmuir 
our  chief  engineer,  not  at  his  demand,  but  as 
a  point  we  yield  out  of  generosity  to  a  bro 
ken  man.  He  knows  I  don't  want  him  on 
the  work,  that  I  have  refused  to  have  him. 
Now  if  he  takes  that  offer  from  our  com 
pany,  the  man  is  ours.  I  am  the  manager 
of  the  company." 

"  How  can  you  subsidize  a  man  by  giving 
him  his  own  ?  Will  the  legal  •  aspect  of 
Dunsmuir's  claim  affect  its  justice  in  his 
own  eyes  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  It  does  not  now ;  but  his  light  will 
grow.  Property  that  has  no  existence  in 
law  can't  be  peddled  about  under  the  name 
of  a  water-right.  I  think  he  has  had  his 
misgivings  that  his  claim  was  wearing  pretty 
thin.  Observe,  he  never  consulted  his  law 
yer  till  the  other  day,  when  he  knew  he  had 
to  ;  he  did  n't  want  to  be  too  sure.  It 's  the 
nature  of  dreams  to  look  queer  by  daylight. 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  161 

Dunsmuir's  fifteen  years'  fight  will  look  very 
strange  to  him  six  months  from  now.  How 
ever,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me ;  let  him 
take  our  offer,  or  walk  off  with  his  pride  and 
an  empty  pocket." 

"What  is  it  you  propose  to  offer  him, 
now?" 

"  Make  him  chief  engineer  and  give  him 
a  little  stock." 

"  And  how  will  you  put  the  offer  of  stock 
to  a  man  who  has  no  rights  in  the  scheme  ?  " 

"  We  shall  put  it  this  way :  Parties 
might  have  got  hold  of  that  location  who 
would  have  given  us  more  trouble  than  you 
have ;  who  would  have  forced  us  to  build 
before  we  were  ready.  This  is  to  pay  you 
for  keeping  up  the  right  for  us." 

'"That  is  very  clever,"  said  Philip,  who 
thought  it  infernally  clever ;  "  but  Duns- 
muir  will  take  it  as  a  taunt.  You  can  never 
compromise  him  through  offering  him  a 
share  in  his  own  scheme.  You  might  as 
well  try  to  suborn  an  author,  offering  him  a 
royalty  on  his  book." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  the  pride  he  has  in 
his  design,  his  responsibility,  and  all  that. 
But  his  plans  went  out  of  his  hands  in  our 
first  deal.  He  will  find,  after  a  while,  that 


162  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

he  *  being  taken  care  of  on  this  scheme, 
and  that  I  am  taking  care  of  him." 

Philip  rose  from  the  table  and  walked  to 
the  open  window,  where  the  purest  of  morn 
ing  breezes  drifted  in  from  the  fields  of  blos 
soming  alfalfa. 

"  Why  does  your  company  wish  to  own  its 
engineer  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  /  am  the  company  here,"  said  Mr.  Nor- 
risson,  disdaining  the  shelter  of  the  collec 
tive  noun ;  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
various  expositions  of  the  dispute  between 
himself  and  Dtmsmuir  he  showed  the  bad 
blood  he  had  always  attributed  to  Dunsmuir 
alone. 

"  I  submit  that  it  will  never  occur  to 
Dunsmuir  that  he  is  being  '  taken  care 
of,'  "  said  Philip ;  and  he  triumphed  in  the 
thought.  His  sympathies  were  with  the  man 
of  his  own  profession.  "The  work  is  his 
by  every  right  of  discovery,  of  design,  of  fit 
ness,  and  of  sacrifice.  Why  should  he  not 
take  it  ?  Who  is  the  man  that  can  say,  '  I 
gave  it  him  in  pity  for  his  delusions  '  ?  " 

"  He  will  take  it,  that  's  what  I  say," 
scoffed  Norrisson.  "  He  will  take  the  stock, 
too.  He  knows  the  worth  of  money,  and  he 
knows  the  need  of  it.  What  shall  follow 


A  TOUCH   OF  NATURE.  163 

remains  to  be  seen.  I  am  satisfied,  remem 
ber,  though  I  seem  to  have  backed  down 
on  a  vital  point.  Dunsmuir  is  chief  engi 
neer  ;  well  and  good.  And  my  son  will  be 
his  first  assistant.  How  does  that  strike 
you?" 

It  struck  Philip  in  so  many  different 
ways  at  once  that  he  could  not  choose  in 
stantly  the  best  answer,  the  truest  to  his 
scruples,  his  doubts,  and  his  deep,  excited 

j°y- 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  if  this  is  part  of  the 
'  deal '  ?  "  was  what  he  said. 

Mr.  Norrisson  answered  indirectly.  "  It 
is  understood  that  you  are  to  have  the  posi 
tion." 

"Whether  Dunsmuir  wants  me  or  not? 
I  should  find  it  unpleasant  to  be  foisted  on 
my  chief." 

"You  are  not  supposed  to  know  it.  I 
need  not  have  told  you ;  but  it 's  impossible 
to  foresee  what  you  will  shy  at  next.  We 
have  another  meeting  fixed  for  this  after 
noon,"  Mr.  Norrisson  added,  rising,  and 
touching  the  bell.  "  We  shall  put  in  our 
final  proposition  as  I  have  stated  it.  I  want 
you  there.  I  want  Dunsmuir  to  see  you  be 
fore  he  's  had  time  to  take  a  prejudice." 


164  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me,"  said 
Philip,  decidedly. 

"  Why  excuse  you  ?  It  was  for  this  I 
sent  for  you." 

Philip,  who  coveted  Dunsmuir's  favor  for 
reasons  too  delicate,  too  personal,  and  as  yet 
too  vague  to  be  spoken,  had  no  resource  but 
to  bear  his  father's  contempt  for  what  must 
appear  merely  another  instance  of  coxcomb 
ry  belonging  to  the  schools. 

"  What  the  devil  is  it  now  ?  You  are  as 
mysterious  as  a  woman ! ' 

But  nothing  would  induce  Philip  to  go 
near  those  embittered  men  in  council,  com 
mitted  to  the  side  which  he  was  not  on.  He 
entreated  that  his  name  be  withheld  for  the 
present.  Let  Dunsmuir's  affairs  be  settled 
first. 

"It  won't  take  half  an  hour  to  settle 
that,"  said  the  man  of  business.  "  I  want 
to  know  if  you  will  take  that  place ;  for 
your  name  will  come  up  whether  you  are 
there  or  not.  You  will  do  as  you  please 
about  that ;  the  other  matter  I  want  set 
tled." 

"  I  will  take  it  gladly,  provided  Dunsmuir 
be  left  free  to  discharge  me  as  he  would 
any  other  man's  son,  if  my  work  should  not 
suit." 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  165 

"  Very  well,"  Mr.  Norrisson  assented,  with 
the  smile  of  a  patient  man  who  is  nearing 
the  limit  of  his  pet  virtue.  "  We  will  put 
it  that  way  then.  You  don't  want  to  be 
4  taken  care  of,'  either ;  is  that  it  ?  " 

Philip  did  not  explain.  His  father  was, 
on  the  whole,  more  amused  than  displeased 
by  his  coyness,  It  was,  as  he  understood  it, 
partly  youth's  high  conceit  of  itself,  and 
partly  the  skittishness  of  a  proud  young  nov 
ice  in  business,  unacquainted  with  the  prac 
tical  nature  of  a  "  deal."  However,  as  they 
left  the  house  together  he  felt  called  on  to 
straighten  the  young  man's  views  on  one 
point. 

"  '  Foisted '  is  a  good  word,"  said  Mr. 
Norrisson,  "  but  it  does  n't  apply  to  a 
straight  demand  that  my  son,  a  graduate 
of  the  Poly  technique,  and  the  very  man 
for  the  place,  should  have  it.  You  under 
stand?" 

"  I  do,"  smiled  Philip ;  "  and  I  take  back 
the  word.  And,  frankly,  I  know  that  I  can 
do  the  work ;  but  I  want  the  relation  to 
be  a  pleasant  one,  and  I  don't  want  it  to 
begin  to-day  in  the  midst  of  a  discussion 
which  may,  or  may  not,  take  a  happy  turn. 
Give  me  time,  and  a  fair  show  of  pleas- 


166  THE   CHOSEN   VALLEY. 

ing  my  chief,  and  I  think  we  can  hit  it 
off." 

"  There  is  sense  in  that ;  and  it 's  your 
concern,  the  social  part,  not  mine.  The 
canon  will  be  your  headquarters,  and  you 
don't  want  to  live  there  in  a  bees'  bike. 
They're  a  set  of  outlandish,  prejudiced 
aliens,  anyhow.  It 's  all  right ;  I  shan't 
hurry  you." 

While  Philip  was  dressing  for  dinner  that 
evening  there  came  a  summons  from  the 
telephone.  He  hurried  into  his  clothes,  and 
went  to  the  instrument.  The  call  was  from 
the  company's  office  :  one  of  the  young  men 
wishing  to  know  if  Dunsmuir  were  in  town, 
or  if  any  of  his  people  were  in.  Philip 
could  not  say,  and  asked  who  wanted  Duns 
muir. 

Answer  came :     "  His  son." 

"Where  is  his  son?" 

"  Here.  Came  in  to-night  —  engineers' 
team  from  camp." 

"  What  camp  ?  " 

"  Fielding's  —  Lower  Snake." 

"  Ask  him  to  come  up  here." 

After  an  interval  the  reply  was :  "  Can't 
do  it.  He  's  all  broke  up." 

"  Get  a  carriage  and  bring  him,  some  of 
you.  I  '11  find  his  father." 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  167 

Philip  rushed  over  to  the  stable  where 
Dunsmuir  kept  his  team  ;  the  horses  were 
being  put  to.  The  stableman  said  Duns- 
muir's  orders  were  that  his  rig  should  be  at 
the  Transcon.  by  six  o'clock.  It  was  then 
ten  minutes  to  six. 

Philip  jumped  in  beside  the  man,  and 
they  drove  to  the  hotel.  He  was  shown  at 
once  to  Mr.  Westerhall's  rooms.  The  door 
of  the  parlor,  at  the  far  end  of  a  long  corri 
dor,  stood  ajar,  and  a  voice  which  he  took 
to  be  Dunsmuir's  was  thundering.  He  could 
not  avoid  hearing  the  words :  — 

"  You  are  in  this  scheme,  gentlemen,  for 
your  money's  worth  ;  I  am  in  it,  now,  for 
the  sole  sake  of  my  work.  Is  it  likely  you 
will  tamper  with  that  ?  Your  guarantees  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with.  I  will  be  bound 
*  by  no  time-limit  of  your  making  in  my  deal 
with  powers  that  are  beyond  your  cogni 
zance." 

"I  don't  quite  tumble  to  your  talk  of 
revenge,"  said  Norrisson,  apparently  in  ref 
erence  to  some  previous  threat  of  Duns 
muir's.  "  How  —  if  it  's  a  fair  question 
—  would  you  propose  to  take  it?  In  the 
courts,  for  instance?  Because  I  can  tell 
you"  — 


168  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  In  the  people's  court  of  the  elections  — 
I  could  meet  you  there.  Bear  in  mind,  all 
that  your  farmers  want  to  make  head  against 
you  is  a  leader  —  a  man  who  knows  some 
thing  and  who  has  nothing  to  lose.  I  have 
heard  a  word  of  buying  their  representa 
tives  ;  may  be  those  gentlemen,  whose  poli 
tics  are  in  their  pockets,  may  think  to  buy 
me?" 

Philip  knocked  twice  before  his  father 
shouted  "  Come  in !  "  The  men  were  all  on 
their  feet ;  Dunsmuir  pacing  the  floor,  his 
gaunt  cheek-bones  reddened,  his  blue  eyes 
blazing,  his  gray-golden  hair  tumbled  on  his 
head  as  by  a  wind  of  strife.  He  wheeled 
upon  Philip,  who,  as  no  one  spoke  to  intro 
duce  him,  was  forced  to  come  bluntly  out 
with  his  errand : 

"  I  have  the  pleasure  to  tell  you,  sir,  that 
your  son  is  in  town.  He  is  at  the  office, 
asking  for  you." 

"  My  son  ?  What  office  ?  Who  is  this 
youngster?"  he  demanded  of  the  company 
generally,  without  taking  his  eyes  from 
Philip's  face. 

"  My  son.  Your  engineer,  Dunsmuir,  — 
the  boy  I  was  telling  you  about,"  said  Nor- 
risson. 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  169 

Dunsmuir  took  no  notice  of  Philip  in 
either  of  the  given  characters. 

"  Is  it  a  waif  word  you  bring  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  tremor  in  his  deep-strung  tones ;  "  or 
do  you  come  from  my  son,  himself  ?  " 

"  I  bring  you  the  message  as  it  came  by 
telephone  from  the  company's  office.  He 
was  there  fifteen  minutes  ago,  asking  for  his 
father.  They  said  he  was  ill,  and  I  took  it 
on  me  to  have  him  brought  to  our  house. 
He  will  be  there  before  we  can  get  there. 
Your  team  is  below." 

"  Man,  are  you  sure  here  is  no  mistake  ?  I 
cannot  bear  to  be  jostled  by  such  news  if 
it 's  not  the  truth."  He  spoke  harshly, 
lapsing  into  his  Scotch  accent,  and  Philip 
answered  as  to  a  woman :  — 

"  Shall  we  not  go  and  see  ?  " 

Dunsmuir  began  to  look  about  the  room 
for  his  hat  and  coat.  He  was  holding  hard 
against  the  heart-shaking  message,  but  there 
was  a  mist  before  his  eyes.  Philip  helped 
him  to  his  things  and  almost  put  them  on 
him.  He  found  a  pleasure  in  waiting  upon 
him,  and  the  omen  was  a  good  one,  though 
he  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  time.  In  si 
lence  the  other  men  drew  near  and  shook 
Dunsmuir  by  the  hand. 


170  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  have  n't  been  able  to  tell  you  how  I 
have  felt  for  you,  Dunsmuir,  in  this  business 
of  your  son,"  said  Norrisson  the  father ;  and 
said  Westerhall,  who  had  a  little  fair-haired 
lad  of  his  own  across  the  water  :  — 

"  Our  toast  to-night  shall  be,  '  Our  boys  ; 
God  bless  them  !  '  " 

In  the  wagon,  driving  through  the  streets, 
Dunsmuir  spoke,  charging  himself  that  he 
must  get  him  a  man  to  carry  a  message  to 
his  women-folk  waiting  in  the  canon.  "  If 
this  news  be  true,  they  cannot  hear  it  too 
soon,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  be  your  man,"  said  Philip. 

"  Will  you  so  ?  Let  it  be  your  first  order, 
then,  my  bonny  chiel !  I  have  been  fighting 
against  you,  I  confess  it ;  I  wanted  no  man 
ager's  son  on  the  work.  And  here  you  come 
with  your  coals  of  fire  !  I  shall  be  in  bonds 
if  the  mercies  hold ;  there  's  nothing  slackens 
a  man's  war  grip  like  the  thought,  My  God 
has  remembered  me." 

Philip  might  have  asked  himself,  had  scru 
ples  been  in  order,  Would  Dunsmuir  have 
made  him  his  messenger  to  the  canon  that 
night  if  he  had  known  how  keen  he  was  for 
the  errand  ?  A  joy  that  was  not  all  enthusi 
asm  for  the  work  was  rising  in  his  heart : 


A   TOUCH  OF  NATURE.  171 

already  he  saw  himself  on  the  darkling  road  ; 
he  was  entering  the  canon  by  starlight ;  he 
saw  the  lights  in  the  waiting  house,  and  a 
girl  with  startled,  soft  gray  eyes  was  thank 
ing  him  as  his  news  deserved. 


XII. 

OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW   ALLIES. 

THE  physical  shock  Alan  had  suffered 
worked  no  sudden  regeneration  of  his  char 
acter,  but  the  joy  of  his  restoration  floated 
the  business  of  the  compromise  off  the  reef 
on  which  it  had  struck.  Norrisson  was  now 
the  generous  host,  the  fatherly  sympathizer, 
and  Dunsmuir's  great  boom  of  happiness 
swept  all  contention  and  bitterness  out  of  his 
soul.  For  the  time  he  had  ceased  to  think 
of  his  wrongs  ;  he  was  ashamed  to  haggle 
about  the  terms  of  a  surrender  which  had 
lost  for  him  its  vital  significance.  What 
mattered  who  built  the  ditch,  or  how  ?  He 
blessed  God  that  he  had  his  son. 

The  question  of  managerial  dictation  to 
the  chief  engineer  was  not  again  raised ;  it 
was  noticeable  that  all  parties  avoided  it, 
and  Westerhall  sailed  for  the  other  side 
with  the  tacit  understanding  that  all  radical 
points  of  dispute  were  settled. 

Alan  had  meant  to  take  no  advantage  of 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     173 

his  temporary  importance.  The  household 
was  prostrate  before  him  ;  none  of  the  old 
issues  were  revived  between  him  and  his 
father,  except  as  he  himself  chose  to  revive 
them,  in  honest  contrition.  He  had  planned 
a  different  and  much  humbler  home-coming. 
He  had  arranged  the  meeting  in  his  own 
mind,  very  modestly,  if  also  effectively ;  his 
father  was  to  have  seen  him,  first,  with  a 
pick  in  his  hand,  at  work  with  the  men. 
Perhaps  he  had  counted  on  the  robe  and  the 
ring  and  the  feasting  afterward.  However, 
it  had  all  been  taken  out  of  his  hands,  and 
his  father  had  only  his  bare  word  for  the 
intentions  he  was  not  strong  enough  as  yet 
to  put  in  practice  :  but  Dunsmuir  asked  no 
thing,  not  even  his  boy's  word.  It  was  a 
specious  content  which  could  not  last. 

Summer  was  advancing,  ever  deeper  in 
dust.  The  sky  was  tarnished  with  haze. 
The  sunsets  were  longer  burning  out  in  the 
west,  in  colors  more  tragic.  The  river  had 
sunk  in  its  bed,  and  the  eery  laugh  was  no 
more  heard.  There  was  another  sound  as 
night  fell,  which  made  music  in  Dunsmuir's 
ears  —  the  roll  of  the  contractor's  wagon 
trains  moving  into  the  canon,  as  the  force  on 
the  work  increased.  By  day  clouds  of  dust, 


174  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

from  the  slow  procession  of  scraper-teams, 
hung  like  the  smoke  of  an  artillery  engage 
ment  along  the  crests  of  the  mesa.  Where 
Dunsrnuir  had  been  wont  to  watch  for  the 
light  of  one  lone  cabin  twinkling  close  to  the 
shore,  a  galaxy  blazed  by  night  along  both 
sides  of  the  gulch  above  Job's  cabin ;  and  on 
the  beach  below  were  tents  and  camp-fires, 
and  men  and  cattle,  and  all  the  dirt  and 
paraphernalia  of  a  huge  contractor's  outfit. 

The  cabin  was  no  longer  a  possible  place 
for  Margaret.  She  lived,  now,  at  the  house, 
and  Job  camped  with  the  force  and  visited 
her  on  Sundays,  as  he  used  before  they  were 
married.  But  they  were  not  at  home,  as 
they  had  been  in  their  bit  of  a  room  below, 
where  Margaret  was  mistress  and  Job  was 
man  of  the  house.  Dolly  tried  to  lure  them 
out  of  the  hot  kitchen  into  the  parlor  off  the 
dining-room,  where  she  and  Margaret  held 
their  domestic  consultations  ;  but  it  was  not 
the  same  to  Margaret  —  going  deliberately 
to  sit  there  with  Job  in  his  best  clothes,  with 
nothing  to  do,  and  members  of  the  family 
passing  in  and  out  with  smiles  of  "  How  do 
you  do,  Job  ?  "  and  affable  questions  about 
the  work. 

Nothing  in  life  persists  like  the  essential 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     175 

nature  of  our  individual  needs  and  peculiari 
ties  ;   the   smallest   of  them  are   often  the 
most  insistent.     The  household,  having  been 
drugged  with  extreme   joy,  came  to   itself 
after  a  while,  and  discovered  that  nothing, 
not  even  Alan,  had  changed :  only  the  work 
had  "  started  up  "  and  jostled  them  all  out 
of  their  old  places  ;  and  if  it  had  brought 
them  the  long  looked  for  rest  and  triumph 
and  security,  none  of  the   elders   had   yet 
found   it  out.     Job  missed  his  old  import 
ance  to  the  work  ;  he  missed  Margaret,  and 
thought  that  she  worked  too  hard ;  and  he 
sorely   missed   his   home.     He    was    not   a 
skilled  laborer.     His  record  counted  for  lit 
tle  in  the  new  organization,  unless  Dunsmuir 
found  time  to  remember  it.    He  had  not  been 
able  to  procure  for  Job  any  position  better 
than  that  of  a   "  pick-handle   boss  "  under 
one  of  the  sub-contractors.     Job  knew  that 
his  place  could  be  filled  at  a  day's  notice. 
Dunsmuir  was  feeling  keenly  his  private  in 
debtedness  to  these  tried  friends,  now  that 
he  had  come,  apparently,  into  his  kingdom. 
He  had  intimated  to  Job  that  the  closing 
deal  had  been  hard  upon  him,  financially. 
Job  knew  the  water-right  had  not  been  sus 
tained,  and  was  not  surprised  ;  but  he  asked 


176  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

no  questions,  and  Dunsmuir  could  not  bring 
himself  to  own  that  he  had  nothing  to  show 
for  his  share  in  his  own  scheme,  after  the 
years  he  had  stood  under  it,  but  his  salary 
and  a  trifle  of  stock  not  presently  available. 
Creditors,  who  had  respected  his  difficulties 
and  accepted  his  promises,  were  "  jumping  " 
on  him  now  that  he  was  supposed  to  have 
made  a  prosperous  alliance.  Job  and  Mar 
garet  were  treated  with  the  distinction  con 
ferred  upon  relatives,  and  creditors  in  love : 
they  were  presumed  to  be  willing  to  wait, 
and  they  waited  ;  but  the  situation  began  to 
be  felt,  even  on  their  side,  now.  If  Duns 
muir  could  have  talked  with  them  openly,  he 
might  have  drawn  anew  upon  their  lasting 
truth  and  warmth  of  feeling ;  but  between 
his  pride  and  soreness,  and  their  pride 
and  shyness,  and  their  habit  of  waiting  for 
the  first  word  to  come  from  him,  the  rift 
widened.  Dunsmuir  thought  that,  peasant 
fashion,  they  distrusted  him,  and  were  feel 
ing  their  pocket  injury  ;  Job  and  Margaret 
thought  him  weakly  uplifted,  and  oblivious  of 
the  past.  They  pitied  him,  as  hand  workers 
pity  the  man  who  works  with  his  head  whose 
results  do  not  check  with  the  plain  demands 
of  life. 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     177 

Meanwhile  Alan,  beset  by  the  new  dis 
tractions  about  him,  fell  into  the  old  restive 
languor  over  his  books.  The  rumor  and  stir 
of  the  camps  fired  his  blood ;  the  town  was 
nearer  than  ever,  with  horsemen  posting 
back  and  forth,  and  livery  teams,  and  tele 
grams.  He  had  promised  himself  that  he 
would  never  "  kick  "  again  ;  but  within  six 
weeks  after  his  pathetic  home-coming  he  was 
imploring  his  father  to  give  him  a  chance 
elsewhere.  He  brought  forward  an  offer 
made  him  by  Mr.  Norrisson  of  a  junior 
clerk's  place  in  the  company's  office  in  town, 
on  a  salary  which  seemed  riches  to  the  boy's 
habitual  impecuniosity.  The  offer  had  in 
cluded  a  home  for  Alan  in  his  patron's 
house.  Norrisson  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
lad,  had  petted  him  enormously  as  his  guest, 
prophesying  him  the  future  of  a  man  of 
affairs.  Dunsmuir  could  see  how  the  mag 
nificence  of  Norrisson's  business  ideas,  his 
splendid,  easy  way  of  living,  had  affected 
Alan's  imagination,  as  the  luxury  of  his 
house  affected  his  body,  just  rescued  from 
the  pit.  Few  things  could  have  been  harder 
for  Dunsmuir  than  to  see  his  son  drift  from 
his  own  control  under  an  influence  which  he 
profoundly  distrusted :  but  the  fact  had  to  be 


178  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

faced ;  no  more  issues  could  be  taken  now. 
Alan  must  go  the  way  of  his  temperament, 
even  as  Philip,  from  the  alien  house,  had 
been  drawn  the  way  of  his. 

One  afternoon,  quite  at  the  beginning  of 
the  canon  work,  Philip  had  climbed  the  slope 
beneath  the  bluffs  to  paint  a  target  for  a 
reference  point  on  a  rock  conspicuous  from 
the  opposite  side.  The  buck-sage  was  out  of 
bloom,  and,  though  seated  close  to  the  cave, 
he  had  not  thought  of  its  neighborhood  until 
he  heard  footsteps,  and  saw  Dolly  loitering 
toward  him.  She  had  gone  to  seek  a  miss 
ing  book  in  that  unfrequented  repository, 
and  seeing  Philip  at  his  tantalizing  employ 
ment,  curiosity  dragged  her  to  the  spot.  He 
took  no  notice  till  she  was  standing  close  be 
hind  him. 

"  That 's  a  very  queer  target,"  said  she. 
"  What  do  you  practice  with  ?  " 

"  A  Buff  &  Berger." 

"  What  is  a  Buff  &  Berger  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  kind  of  transit  they  make  in  Bos 
ton." 

"  Oh.  And  are  you  really  painting  that 
thing  because  you  must  ?  " 

Philip  had  drawn  a  circle  on  the  rock,  and 
quartered  it,  and  was  now  painting  the  oppo 
site  quadrants  white  and  red. 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     179 

"  I,  or  some  other  man,"  he  said.  "  Did 
you  think  I  was  painting  it  for  its  beauty  or 
its  deep  significance  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  might  signify  things,"  said 
Dolly,  seating  herself  for  conversation. 

"  What  things,  for  example  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can't  think  of  anything  when 
you  ask  me.  It  might  be  a  chief's  signal,  a 
kind  of  cross-tarrie,  if  there  were  anybody 
to  rise  or  anything  to  rise  for." 

"  There  speaks  the  daughter  of  the  Duin- 
hewassel." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly,  rather  regretfully ;  "  we 
are  not  a  clan  family,  on  my  father's  side. 
His  forebears  were  Saxon  and  Whiggish,  and 
nonconforming,  and  non-everything.  They 
were  '  kickers,'  as  Alan  says.  Of  course, 
you  know,  I  am  no  Jacobite  at  this  late  day ; 
yet  I  think  there  was  just  as  good  praying 
on  their  side." 

"  And  some  very  '  pretty  men,'  "  said 
Philip,  smiling.  "  Still,  you  must  allow  for 
the  glamour  of  a  lost  cause.  The  histories 
for  children  seek  rather  to  be  picturesque,  I 
think,  than  sternly  just." 

"  They  had  the  best  songs,"  said  Dolly, 
"  and  when  we  are  *  children '  "  —  she  re 
turned  his  playful  emphasis  —  "we  fight  as 
we  sing." 


180  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  And  when  we  are  men,  we  fight  as  our 
girls  sing.  I  hear  you  wasting  a  lot  of 
pathos,  even  now,  on  that  waefu'  name  of 
Charlie." 

He  looked  at  her,  as  he  took  a  fresh 
brushf ul  of  paint,  and  forced  her  to  return 
his  smile,  which  she  did  with  the  pleasing 
addition  of  a  fine  large  blush.  He  could  at 
any  time  make  her  blush,  but  he  did  not 
value  the  symptom,  knowing  how  little  a 
change  of  color  or  the  absence  of  it  signifies 
with  these  innocent  young  faces. 

The  blush  made  her  suddenly  serious.  "  I 
am  thankful  there  are  no  such  wasteful  quar 
rels  now,"  she  said.  "  But  the  uneasy  spirit 
never  dies :  when  the  fighting  stops  the 
schemes  begin." 

"  Are  you  not  friendly  to  the  scheme  ?  " 

"To  my  father's?" 

"  To  ours.     They  are  the  same  ?  " 

"Nothing  else,  then,  is  the  same.  And 
nothing  is  as  we  used  to  think  it  would  be 
when  we  dreamed  of  the  work  starting  up." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  canon.  It  's  quite  another 
place  to  what  it  was.  Things  I  used  to  feel 
and  think  seem  nonsense  to  me  now.  I  am 
much  older." 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     181 

"Three  weeks?" 

"  Three  years." 

"  How  many  places  have  you  ever  seen, 
outside  the  canon  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  remember,  unless  you  call 
the  town  a  place." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  scornfully  ?  It 
is  a  very  nice  little  town." 

"  You  ought  to  think  so,  truly.  It 's  a 
sort  of  relative  of  yours ;  you  have  the  same 
name,  and  the  same  parent,  is  n't  that  what 
they  say  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  what  they  say.  Tell  me 
some  other  things  you  have  n't  seen." 

"  But  I  Ve  never  seen  anything.  If  it 's 
a  list  of  my  ignorances  you  want  I  might  sit 
here  all  the  afternoon." 

"Begin,  then,  by  all  means.  Have  you 
ever  seen  —  the  flag  of  your  country,  offi 
cially  displayed  ?  " 

"  Which  is  my  country,  I  wonder  ?  Alan 
says  he  would  fight  for  the  Stars  and 
Stripes ;  but  I  should  go  with  my  father." 

"Better  postpone  the  decision  till  after 
your  marriage." 

"  I  shall  never  marry  on  that  side,  flag  or 
no  flag." 

"  Bien,  but  why  ?  "  asked  Philip,  opening 
his  eyes. 


182  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Well,  I  should  not  care  to  marry  be 
neath  a  certain  class,  the  class  I  'm  supposed 
to  belong  to,"  she  argued  seriously;  "yet  I 
have  not  been  bred  like  the  women  of  that 
class.  I  should  never  feel  at  home  with 
them." 

"  But  what  can  you  know  of  them  ?  " 
"  Oh,  I  have  studied  them  for  years ;  in 
the  novels,  you  know,  and  in  Punch  —  the 
tall  girls  with  high  shoulders  and  short 
upper  lips,  and  the  young  men  with  their 
insolent  Greek  profiles." 

"  But  you  were  speaking  of  the  women." 
"  The  women,  of  course ;  the  duchess,  and 
the  husband-hunting  mammas,  and  the  little 
nobodies  who  are  trying  to  get  on,  and  the 
rude  somebodies  who  crush  them  whenever 
they  get  the  chance,  and  the  flirting  old 
maids,  and  the  masher,  and  the  dean  "  — 
"  And  have  you  taken  them  seriously? " 
"  Why  should  n't  I  ?  They  must  be  true, 
else  how  do  you  explain  their  tremendous 
vogue  ?  Should  you  think  a  provincial 
stranger  would  be  happy  among  them  ? 
Fancy  their  charity,  their  4  amenities  ; '  how 
they  would  feel  another's  woe  and  hide  the 
fault  they  see !  My  accent  would  be  wrong, 
I  should  n't  know  their  talk,  and  they  would 


OLD    FRIENDS  AND   NEW  ALLIES.     183 

never  care  to  know  mine ;  and  if  I  tried  to 
be  like  them  I  should  be  affected." 

Philip  dissembled  his  intense  amusement, 
and  answered,  "  You  are  thinking  of  types." 

"  Well,  I  should  be  a  type.     When  one 
is  in  the  right  place  one  is  taken  as  a  matter 
of   course.     It  is  n't    thought    necessary   to 
whisper,  4  She  grew  up  in  a  canon ! '     No ; 
I  'd  rather  dream  of  the  Old  Country  and  I 
call  it  home,  than  go  there  to  find  myself  \ 
without  a  country." 

"  When  you  speak  of  the  Old  Country  do 
you  mean  England  or  Scotland  ?  " 

"  Both  ;  but  I  was  born  in  India,  in  the 
Punjab,  in  the  great  days  of  my  father's 
work.  I  wish  he  had  stayed  where  they 
know  what  an  engineer  is.  Here  his  record 
counts  for  nothing ;  he  might  as  well  be  a 
tinker.  Anybody  who  can  run  a  hand  level 
is  an  engineer  in  America." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Philip.  "  /  am  an  Amer 
ican  engineer." 

Dolly  nodded  at  him  very  sweetly.  "  I 
have  no  prejudices,"  she  assured  him ;  and 
when  Philip  laughed  aloud,  she  was  quite 
mystified.  "I  used  to  dream  of  nothing," 
she  went  on,  "  but  how  my  father  was  ever 
to  get  this  work  done.  I  used  to  long  for 


184  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  power  to  help  him.  You  know  a  girl's 
only  way  to  get  power  is  to  marry  it,"  she 
confided  to  him,  as  a  great  discovery.  "  I 
mean  a  girl  like  me,  with  no  education,  or 
genius  of  her  own.  Yes  ;  it  was  actually 
one  of  my  make-believes  —  I  must  have 
been  in  pinafores.  There  should  come  a 
rich  traveler  to  visit  the  canon  who  would 
be  astonished  at  my  father's  daughter.  I 
should  have  been,  not  as  I  am,  you  know, 
but  a  dark-eyed,  red  and  white  wonderful 
beauty.  But  I  would  not  listen  to  him 
till  he  had  promised  to  back  my  father's 
scheme." 

"  He  was  to  purchase  your  hand,  then,  by 
building  the  ditch?" 

"  Of  course  ;  what  else  ?  " 

"  Was  there  a  heart  anywhere  in  the  busi 
ness?" 

"There  was  his  heart.  Do  you  think  I 
would  marry  a  man  that  did  not  care  for 
me?" 

"And  where  was  your  heart,  meanwhile?" 

"  With  my  blessed,  dear  daddy,"  ex 
claimed  Dolly,  with  perfect  self-satisfaction. 

"  And  these  are  the  dreams  of  girlhood  in 
a  canon!  You  must  have  read  some  very 
silly  books." 


OLD   FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     185 

"  Is  n't  it  a  woman's  duty  to  help  her 
family?" 

44  It  is  her  first  duty  to  be  honest,  if  she 
can." 

"  If  we  had  always  been  free  we  might 
have  been  honest." 

"  « Is  that  a  tale  ye  borrow  '  ?  "  Philip 
retorted,  "  '  or  is  't  some  words  ye  've  learned 
by  rote'?" 

Dolly  was  caught  by  the  quotation,  which 
she  was  pleased  to  call  felicitous,  and  omitted 
to  observe  that  Philip's  reply  was  merely  an 
evasion. 

He  continued  to  question  her,  enjoying 
the  frank  side-lights  of  biography  her  an 
swers  shed  upon  the  family  past. 

"  And  was  Alan  born  under  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  that  he  should  declare  for 
America?  " 

"  No ;  not  he.  We  are  twins,  did  you 
not  know?  After  India  we  lived  in  a  stu 
pid  house  in  Bedford  Park,  while  papa  was 
looking  up  his  scheme  in  this  country. 
Sometimes  we  went  to  the  sea  and  some 
times  to  Dalgarnie,  my  grandmother's  house 
in  the  north.  Margaret  tells  us  about 
those  places  till  I  think  I  can  remember  ; 
but  of  course  I  cannot.  I  was  but  three 


186  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

when  we  came  to  the  canon;  and  there  is 
something  deadening  in  the  sight  of  these 
bluffs  that  never  change,  and  these  lights 
and  winds  and  sounds  that  go  on  from  year 
to  year.  I  wonder  we  are  not  all  a  little 
touched.  I  think  we  are  a  wee  bit  off,  each 
one  of  us  in  a  way  of  our  own." 

She  crowded  herself  closer  into  a  hollow 
of  the  slope,  clasping  her  knees  and  talk 
ing  in  a  sing-song,  drowsy  monologue  to  the 
tune  of  the  river  and  the  breeze  stirring  the 
dry  hill-grasses  above  their  heads.  Philip 
stole  a  look  at  her  from  time  to  time,  and 
wantonly  nursed  his  job. 

"  Yes  ;  I  surely  think  we  have  been  at 
times  a  little  warped,"  she  mused  aloud, 
encouraged  by  his  silence.  "  There  used  to 
be  a  sound  —  I  think  you  have  never  heard 
it  —  a  sound  inside  of  all  other  sounds,  like 
a  ringing  in  the  ears  ;  I  cannot  describe 
it.  We  used  to  hear  it  when  the  river 
talked  at  night.  Well,  you  cannot  think 
how  I  used  to  dread  that  sound ;  it  was  like 
a  wicked  laugh.  Margaret  said  it  was  '  un 
chancy.'  And  now  it  seems  such  perfect 
nonsense.  I  wonder  I  'm  not  ashamed  to 
tell  you.  But  the  spell  is  broken  now." 

"  I  would  have  had  it  last,  long  enough  to 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     187 

include  me,"  said  Philip.  "  And  so  the 
canon  is  quite  spoiled,  you  think  ?  "  he  ques 
tioned,  half  jealously. 

"  I  did  not  say  spoiled  ;  not  the  same." 

"  Still,  you  would  not  have  liked  to  stay 
here  as  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  had  to,  I  fancy,  whether  I 
liked  it  or  not.  I  could  have  kept  my  make- 
believes.  Now  I  don't  care  for  them  any 
more." 

"  Ah,"  murmured  Philip.  "  And  the  rich 
traveler  —  what  would  you  say  to  him  now?  " 

"  I  don't  need  him  now :  the  work  is  go 
ing  on  without  him." 

"  But  if  the  work  should  stop ;  how  then  ? 
Would  you  be  ready  to  make  that  same  bar 


gain? 
u 


I  told  you  I  was  a  child." 

"  Tell  me  some  other  things  you  used  to 
think  when  you  were  a  child." 

"You  would  laugh.': 

"Never!  Am  I  such  a  Philistine?  Do 
you  think  I  have  no  bees  in  my  own  bon 
net?" 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  the  canon-bird  ?  " 
asked  Dolly,  shyly. 

"  Once  —  twice ;  never  since  the  work  be- 
gan." 


188  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  You  have  noticed  that,  too  ?     I  think  it 
does  not  like  the  work;  and  I  am  so  sorry." 
"  Is  the  bird  supposed  to  be  a  sort  of  om 
niscience  that  has  to  be  propitiated?" 
"  I  knew  you  would  laugh  !  " 
"  But  it  is  you  who  are  laughing." 
"  Do  you  know  —  there  is  no  such  bird." 
"  You  mean  it  is  not  set  down  in  the  bird 
books?" 

"  Not  that  we  can  find.  And  not  one  of 
us  has  ever  traced  the  song.  It  is  a  shy 
singer ;  its  voice,  if  you  've  noticed,  comes 
from  far  away,  for  all  it 's  so  piercing.  We 
hear  it  only  in  shady,  quiet  places  like  the 
poplars  or  the  big  cut,  or  up  in  the  shadow 
of  the  bluffs ;  and  no  one  has  ever  heard  it 
beyond  the  canon.  It  was  after  we  had  the 
sorrow  here :  my  mother  was  taken,  and 
then  it  began  to  be  heard,  and  only  in  those 
places  that  she  loved.  This  I  have  never 
said  to  any  one.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I 
used  to  think  it  meant  that  I  was  doing 
right  or  was  going  to  be  happy,  whenever 
I  heard  the  bird.  It  was  my  four-leaved 
clover,  my  new  moon  over  the  right  shoulder. 
Did  I  not  tell  you  we  are  a  little  touched  ?  " 
After  a  silence,  Philip  said  :  "  Do  you  re 
member  the  first  time  that  you  deigned  to 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ALLIES.     189 

look  at  me?     You  stood  below  the  bluffs, 
and  we  heard  the  bird." 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  that  time !  I  was  n't 
looking  at  you  at  all.  I  was  looking  at 
Alan,"  said  Dolly,  disingenuously;  and  as 
she  spoke  came  the  rare,  piercing,  faltering 
note,  dropping  through  the  silence.  She 
could  not  help  but  look  at  him  now ;  and 
Philip  blessed  the  bird. 


XIII. 

A   BULLET   WITH   A   BILLET. 

"  I  HAVE  something  for  you,"  said  Philip 
one  day  on  his  return  from  town,  handing  a 
neat  parcel  to  Dolly. 

"  A  jeweler's  box  for  me  ?  Who  can  it 
be  from?" 

"  The  rich  traveler,  I  think,  must  be  not 
far  off.  Seebright  said  it  was  for  4  some  of 
the  canon  folks,'  and  as  it  seems  to  be  a 
woman's  toy  I  conclude  it  must  be  for  you." 

Dolly  was  in  a  twitter  of  curiosity  as  she 
opened  the  velvet  box  and  turned  its  con 
tents  out  upon  her  palm.  The  bauble's 
weight  was  more  than  she  was  prepared  for ; 
it  fell,  and  rolled  the  length  of  the  room. 

«  What  an  odd  thing !  Whatever  can  it 
be  meant  for?  " 

"  To  hang  about  your  neck,  apparently," 
said  Philip,  examining  it  as  he  picked  it  up. 
It  was  in  size,  shape,  and  weight  the  pattern 
of  a  rifle-ball,  polished,  and  gilded,  and 


A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  191 

pierced  to  receive  the  loop  of  a  slender  gold 
chain ;  and  round  the  middle  went  a  gold 
band  engraved  with  a  legend  in  Spanish, 
which  Philip  translated  at  Dolly's  command. 

"  He  's  a  Don,  you  see,  not  an  English 
somebody ;  and  he  says  that '  Love  flourishes 
from  a  wound.' ' 

"  What  rubbish !  "  cried  Dolly,  blushing. 
"  Have  n't  you  heard  something  like  that 
before?" 

"  Remarks  of  that  kind  are  not  expected 
to  be  original ;  and  he  may  have  been  ham 
pered  in  his  observations  by  the  very  trifling 
circumference  of  a  bullet.  Do  bullets  stand 
for  arrows  in  the  language  of  the  western 
amoroso  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  western  ?  He 
knows  Spanish,  it  seems." 

"  He  adapts  it  vilely  from  the  Latin.  '  Vi- 
rescit  vulnere  virtus '  is  the  fountain  of  his 
wit.  Dolly,  it  's  come  to  a  pretty  pass ;  peo 
ple  turning  virtue  into  love  on  your  account ! " 

"  You  know  that  it  can  have  nothing  to 
do  with  me."  Dolly  began  to  look  teased. 
"  What  does  Seebright  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  that  one  of  his  assistants  took 
the  order,  and  the  young  man's  amusements 
overcame  him  somewhat,  and  he  mixed  his 


192  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

labels  up,  and  has  since  been  fired.  All  the 
direction  on  the  box  was  '  The  Canon.'  ' 

"  It  might  be  some  joke  of  Alan's  —  the 
expensive  chiel !  "  mused  Dolly.  "  But  I 
never  knew  Alan  meddle  with  sentiment, 
and  he  could  never  have  got  his  verb  right." 

"  Alan's  Spanish  is  improving,"  said 
Philip.  "  Did  you  know  he  was  taking 
lessons?" 

"  No,  I  did  not.  And  who  is  his  teach 
er?" 

"  My  father's  cook." 

"  His  Spanish,  then,  will  match  his  Eng 
lish,"  sighed  Dolly. 

"  Not  at  all.  Enrique  prides  himself.  He 
can  turn  a  phrase  as  neatly  as  an  omelet ;  he 
is  a  professional  writer  of  love-letters,  more 
over,  and  by  his  own  account  he  has  plenty 
of  practice." 

"  Dear  me,  are  there  so  many  of  them  — 
those  Mexicans  ?  " 

"  They  may  be  stronger  in  feeling  than  in 
numbers." 

"  I  hope  Alan  does  not  go  amongst  them," 
said  Dolly,  looking  troubled.  "  I  hear  that 
the  Vargas  family  have  moved  to  town  ;  and 
if  Alan  should  be  careless,  and  forget  his 
promise  "  — 


A  BULLET   WITH  A  BILLET.  193 

"  What  promise  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know,  about  Antonia  Vargas 
helping  him  out  of  the  cave.  Her  family 
would  take  it  very  ill  if  Alan  should  make  it 
common  talk." 

"He  might  placard  the  town  with  it," 
laughed  Philip  ;  "  not  one  in  a  hundred  would 
ever  believe  the  story.  I  should  n't  myself, 
only  for  the  letter  in  evidence." 

"  What  would  you  have  believed,  pray  ?  " 
asked  Dolly,  offended  by  his  joking. 

"  I  should  have  thought  the  lad  must  have 
been  a  trifle  mixed  about  the  time  he  saw 
an  angel  in  petticoats  descending,  hand  over 
hand,  thirty  feet  on  a  half -inch  rope.  Try  it 
yourself,  some  time." 

"I  don't  see  what  difference  it  makes 
what  anybody  believes.  Antonia  knows 
what  she  did,  and  whether  she  wants  it 
talked  of.  Alan  is  so  careless,  and  I  feel 
that  somehow  Pacheco  shadows  him  still." 

"  Pacheco  has  made  it  impossible  for  him 
self  to  come  back.  He  has  stolen  a  horse, 
which  is  worse  for  him,  I  understand,  than 
to  have  killed  his  man." 

"  Pacheco  is  betrothed  to  Antonia  Vargas. 
He  will  come  back  for  her." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 


194  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  So  they  say ;  and  she  defended  him  with 
a  pistol." 

"  A  countryman  is  a  countryman  ;  and  it 
may  have  been  her  Mexican  idea  of  hospi 
tality." 

"  Alan  ought  to  be  very  careful,"  Dolly 
repeated. 

"  By  the  way,  was  the  bullet  taken  from 
Alan's  arm,  do  you  know ;  or  did  it  pass 
clean  through  ?  " 

"  Alan  has  the  bullet ;  he  is  prouder  of  it 
than  "  —  Their  eyes  met.  "  You  do  not 
think  ?  "  Dolly  questioned,  flushing  hotly. 

"  It  was  just  a  fancy,"  said  Philip  ;  "  and 
I  am  not  very  proud  of  it.  Still,  as  a  joke, 
you  know." 

"  Alan  is  not  that  sort  of  boy  at  all,"  pro 
nounced  Dolly.  "  You  make  me  wretched." 

"  Come,  now,  I  did  n't  say  that  he  was. 
But  I  did  hear  Alan  say,  once,  that  if  ever 
he  met  Pacheco's  girl  he  would  give  her  back 
her  bullet." 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  make 
some  inquiries  ?  " 

"  Of  Alan  ?     Hardly." 

"  Of  Seebright,  perhaps." 

"I  think,"  said  Philip,  "that  I  shall  spend 
more  of  my  evenings  in  town." 


A  BULLET   WITH  A   BILLET.  195 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  "  Dolly  raised  her  eyes, 
full  of  warmest  gratitude,  to  his. 

"  Do  you  think  me  an  offensive  prig  ?  I 
feel  quite  an  old  fellow  of  my  years  with 
Alan." 

"  Oh,  Alan  is  a  perfect  child ;  and  some 
times  a  perfect  hoodlum.  But  don't  you 
think  he  is  a  dear  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  very  nearly  related  to  a 
dearer  than  dear." 

"  Please  don't  try  to  be  funny  ;  I  want  to 
think,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Wait,  and  do  your  thinking  to-night ;  or 
leave  it  to  me.  There  is  one  little  fault  I 
have  to  find  with  the  canon  family"  — 

"  I  should  think  you  might  have  found 
several."  Dolly  tried  to  look  indifferent. 

"  Not  a  fault,  perhaps,  but  a  tendency. 
You  take  things — most  things  —  too  seri 
ously." 

"Oh!" 

"  And  some  things  not  seriously  enough." 

"  As,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  The  fact  that  I  am  exiling  myself  of  even 
ings,  when  the  canon  is  most  the  canon  to 
me,  all  for  your  brother's  sake,  who  will  not 
thank  me,  —  far  from  it,  —  and  you  see 
nothing  in  it  at  all !  " 


19G  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  would  do  as  much  for  you." 

"  Thanks.  For  my  brother,  supposing  I 
had  one  ?  " 

"  For  either.  If  you  needed  such  compan 
ionship  or  influence  as  mine,  I  should  think 
nothing  of  giving  it,  at  any  cost.  I  should 
feel  so  flattered  to  have  been  of  use." 

"  Why  do  you  assume  that  I  don't  need  it  ? 
As  a  fact,  I  am  distinctly  preferring  an 
other's  needs  to  my  own." 

"Because"  -  Dolly  hesitated,  blushed, 
and  broke  into  a  smile  —  "because  you 
seem  to  think  you  want  it.  Now  the  thing 
we  want  is  very  seldom  the  thing  we  need." 

"  Who  told  you  that,  pray  ?  You  got  it 
out  of  books,  where  you  get  all  your  strained, 
conventional  notions  of  self-sacrifice.  Not 
that  I  blame  you;  all  self-centred  people 
grow  morbid  in  solitude,  and  your  still 
waters  have  bred  lilies,  while  some  would 
have  bred  ugly  weeds." 

Dolly  put  aside  the  words  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust.  ;'  I  hate  to  be  discussed !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  What  can  it  matter  ?  Weeds 
or  lilies,  we  are  always  a  collection  of  curios 
ities  you  have  unearthed  and  are  studying 
at  your  leisure.  I  am  very  tired  of  it." 

"  And  I  am  tired  of  being  totally  and  al- 


A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  197 

ways  misunderstood,  and  treated  as  a  stran 
ger.  Now,  to-night,  if  I  should  be  late  to 
dinner,  why  should  you  not  sit  with  me,  as 
you  would  with  Alan  or  your  father  ?  What 
is  my  position  in  the  household  ?  " 

"  Margaret  says  you  are  '  just  an  appren 
tice,  nae  mair,'  "  said  Dolty,  wickedly. 

"Very  well;  then  why  not  give  me  my 
meals  with  the  men  ?  " 

" I  will  sit  with  you,"  Dolly  relented,  "if 
you  are  n't  too  late.  I  will  bring  a  book  — 
as  I  do  with  Alan." 

"  If  you  do,  I  shall  take  the  book  away." 

"Indeed, will  you?" 

"Just  try  me.  If  you  come  to  keep  me 
company  with  a  book,  miss,  that  book  is  for 
feit,  and  the  penalty  I  shall  name,  and  take." 

"  I  wish  you  would  take  this."  Dolly  held 
out  the  box  at  arm's  length  ;  Philip  took  it 
and  her  hand  with  it. 

"  What  manners  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
think  Margaret  was  right  — '  an  apprentice, 
nae  mair ! '  "  and  she  fled  before  Philip  could 
make  reprisals. 

During  their  first  weeks  together  in  the 
canon  the  young  people  had  behaved  ma 
turely,  talking  in  well-constructed  sentences 
about  books  and  manners  and  the  conduct 


198  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

of  life  ;  and  Philip  told  Dolly  about  his 
schooldays  and  vacations  abroad,  and  com 
pared  the  apparent  fullness  of  his  experience 
with  the  narrowness  of  hers,  of  which  she 
was  much  ashamed ;  and  contrasted  the 
slightness  and  poverty  of  his  intimacies  with 
her  constant,  warm,  concentrated  life  of  home, 
which  she  took  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  he 
considered  a  marvel  of  preciousness  and  un- 
usualness.  But  youth  and  gayety  and  the 
high-tide  of  summer  weather,  and  the  pro 
pinquity  of  morning,  noon,  and  night  in  the 
same  small  house,  soon  brought  them  to  a 
pass  which  included  romps  and  quarrels, 
and  flights  of  ecstasy  unaccounted  for  ;  and 
Philip,  who  always  spoke  of  Miss  Dunsmuir 
to  the  young  lady's  father,  called  her  Dolly 
to  herself,  and  felt  toward  her  as  to  a  dar 
ling,  irresistible  child,  and  sometimes  as  to  a 
young  goddess,  far  beyond  his  reach. 

He  had  missed,  through  his  mother's  the 
ories  of  education,  all  those  girl-friendships 
which  had  been  his  birthright,  which  he  had 
not  lost  his  taste  for,  nor  forfeited  his  right 
to  enjoy.  Beautiful  girls  and  women  he  had 
met  in  all  the  ways  conventionally  prescribed, 
some  of  them  sufficiently  intimate  ;  but 
never  had  he  assisted  a  pretty  girl  in  a  white 


A  BULLET  WITH  A   BILLET.  199 

apron,  with  her  hair  pushed  into  a  cap, 
perched  on  the  library  steps,  to  dust  and  ar 
range  her  father's  bookshelves  ;  or  watched 
her  whip  meringues  or  ice  a  cake,  or  train 
her  wind-blown  roses,  or  ransack  trunks  in 
an  attic  under  the  brown  eaves,  or  mount  a 
restless  pony  —  for  Dolly's  drilling  in  this 
feat  had  fallen  to  him  instead  of  to  Alan,  as 
legitimately  planned.  He  had  seen  her  in 
all  her  very  few  and  simple  home  frocks,  but 
never  in  a  dinner  or  dancing  dress.  He  had 
done  everything  with  her  but  the  conven 
tional  thing  —  from  fighting  her  futile  theo 
ries  of  life,  to  laying  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  or 
sitting  by  and  measuring  the  spaces  while 
she  changed  the  buttons  on  his  riding  coats ; 
which,  with  his  life  of  constant  exercise  in 
the  light  air  of  the  plains,  were  getting  all 
too  tight  in  the  chest  and  too  loose  in  the 
waist.  He  had  taken  into  his  own  hands 
those  little  services  which  a  brother  can  per 
form  for  a  sister,  or  pungently  neglect ;  and 
Philip  neglected  nothing.  Such  privileges 
had  been  too  rare  in  his  life  to  be  underval 
ued  ;  and  of  course  the  particular  girl  made 
a  difference.  Dolly  was  unique  :  a  surprise 
every  day,  in  that  she  could  be  both  so  child 
ish  beyond  belief,  and  so  deliciously  womanly 


200  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

as  almost  to  Taring  the  tears  to  his  eyes. 
Most  of  all  he  prized  his  evenings  —  for 
then  she  was  all  woman  —  on  the  wan  sands 
where  the  river's  "  curmurring  "  forced  them 
to  be  silent,  or  up  among  the  pierced  shad 
ows  of  the  poplars,  or  up  again  in  the  solemn, 
clear  light  that  brooded  on  the  bluffs. 

In  keeping  a  brotherly  watch  over  Alan's 
evenings  Philip  had  lost  many  an  evening  of 
his  own  ;  but  now  and  then  the  sacrifice  was 
richly  rewarded.  He  and  Alan  began  those 
rides  together  which  the  boy  had  once  cov 
eted  ;  miles  of  twilight  country  they  covered, 
silent  for  the  most  part,  Philip,  in  spirit,  with 
Dolly  by  his  side.  He  had  never  yet  had  the 
chance  to  ride  with  her,  and  so  he  was  al 
ways  scheming  and  dreaming  about  it.  One 
evening  she  drove  down  with  her  father  and 
the  canon  family  dined  all  together  in  town. 
Mr.  Norrisson  was  absent,  and  Philip  did 
the  honors  with  fastidious  recklessness.  He 
had  spent  the  better  part  of  the  day  elabo 
rating  his  preparations  ;  he  had  arranged  the 
flowers  in  his  mother's  dressing-room,  —  hers 
in  name,  though  she  had  never  entered  it, 
—  heaping  roses  upon  roses  wherever  roses 
would  go,  and  choosing  with  difficult  fancy 
the  most  beauteous  ones  for  Dolly's  bouquet. 


A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  201 

He  knew  how  she  would  come,  in  her  little 
home-made  habit,  and  he  exulted  in  thinking 
of  her  dear  simplicity  in  contrast  to  the  stu 
pid  braveries  of  that  money-built  house.  He 
was  at  pains  to  make  the  contrast  as  great 
as  possible,  that  he  might  gloat  upon  her 
difference,  which  she  neither  understood  nor 
knew  to  value. 

She  had  been  a  full  hour  in  the  house, 
and  Philip  was  wondering  what  should  keep 
her  so  unconscionably  long  upstairs.  Now 
Dolly  had  never  in  her  life  before  been 
in  such  a  splendid  room,  so  intricately  ar 
ranged  for  the  gratification  of  the  exterior 
life  of  woman,  the  adornment  of  her  person, 
and  her  study  of  that  person  when  adorned. 
Never  had  she  seen  herself  so  plenteously,  re 
peatedly  reflected  in  mirrors,  long,  and  wide, 
and  multiple.  She  was  standing  in  front  of 
one  of  these,  stepping  back  and  forth,  smil 
ing  in  a  curious,  surprised  intimacy  with  her 
own  full-length  figure,  when  Philip  knocked 
at  the  door,  begging  her  to  make  a  little 
haste. 

"  Has  papa  come  ?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  but  may  n't  I  speak  to  you  ?  I 
want  to  ask  you  "  —  Dolly  opened  the  door : 
her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  her  eyes  brilliant 


202  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

yet  shy  —  "I  want  to  ask  what  you  think 
of  this  room.  It  was  done  by  a  famous 
decorator  who  has  never  seen  his  work ;  nor 
has  my  mother,  for  whom  it  was  intended." 

"  What  would  my  opinion  be  worth  ?  I 
have  never  seen  anything  but  our  poor  rooms. 
I  am  thinking  how  strange  that  we  shoidd 
be  here  !  You  will  never  know  how  strange, 
that  /should  be  here." 

"  In  the  palace  of  the  Beast  ?  "  Their 
eyes,  meeting,  took  away  the  scoff  from  the 
words.  "  I  know  more  than  you  think  ;  more 
perhaps  than  you  know  yourself." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  Dolly, 
absently.  "  We  are  the  changelings  of  the 
scheme.  What  you  have  I  might  have  had, 
perhaps  ;  but  I  never  cared  —  until  now. 
Now  I  care,  sometimes." 

"  For  what  do  you  care  ?  " 

Dolly  frowned  in  her  way  when  she  was 
disposed  to  be  very  practical. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  to-day  will  be  a 
good  time  for  you  to  put  me  through  my 
dinner  paces." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  realize  quite  how 
provincial  I  am  —  what  a  perfect  desert- 
islander.  I  have  never  dined  in  a  fine  house 


A   BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  203 

in  my  life,  and  dinner  fashions  are  always 
changing  ;  our  canon  ways  must  be  far  be 
hind.  To-day  we  shall  be  by  ourselves,  and 
I  shall  not  mind  your  correcting  me  if  I 
make  mistakes.  But,  perhaps,"  she  hesitated, 
"  of  course  it  wfll  not  be  a  swell  dinner  for 
only  us." 

"  Such  as  you  will  find  it,  the  house  can 
do  no  more,"  Philip  assured  her,  gravely. 
"  The  table  is  in  full  regalia ;  Enrique  has 
been  commanded  to  sacrifice  to  his  gods ; 
Wong  has  every  stitch  of  canvas  set ;  he  rus 
tles  like  a  Channel  breeze ;  myself  you  see  in 
riding  dress,  but  only  to  match  yourself." 

"  How  nice  of  you !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  Then 
we  can  have  a  regular  rehearsal  —  wanting 
the  clothes ;  but  the  clothes  will  not  matter. 
Mind,  now,  that  you  watch  me !  " 

"  Dolly,  you  are  growing  terribly  ambi 
tious.  You  are  thinking  of  that  Englishman, 
confound  him  !  You  are  preparing  to  meet 
the  duchess  and  the  masher." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly,  sincerely,  with  a  shade 
of  trouble  in  her  voice  ;  "  I  am  only  com 
paring  myself,  that  ought  to  be  a  lady,  with 
ladies  who  belong  in  a  room  like  this.  If 
you  will  believe  me,  I  don't  even  know  what 
half  of  these  things  are  for  !  " 


204  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  If  by  those  4  ladies '  you  mean  my 
mother,"  said  Philip,  forced  to  be  serious 
though  he  wanted  to  catch  her  in  his  arms 
and  call  her  a  precious  little  goose,  "  I  can 
tell  you  that  when  she  was  your  age  she  had 
no  such  room  as  this,  which,  by  the  way,  she 
disdains ;  she  was  breaking  colts,  like  a  young 
Diana,  on  the  range ;  and  if  she  had  a  four- 
bit  hand-glass  to  do  her  back  hair  in,  it  was 
as  much  as  she  had.  And  she  was  happy 
then  —  and,  I  am  told,  made  others  happy." 

"  But  of  course  she  must  have  wanted  all 
these  things,  by  instinct,  before  she  ever 
knew  what  they  were." 

"  Are  you  afraid  you  have  n't  the  instincts 
of  a  lady  ?  Pity  you  are  such  a  little  sav 
age  !  My  mother  wanted,  always  has  wanted, 
the  thing  beyond.  So  do  I.  Would  you 
like  a  room  like  this,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  should  like  a  few  of  those 
acres  of  wardrobes.  I  spend  my  life  trying 
to  find  places  to  put  things.  And  I  confess 
there  is  a  fascination  in  a  long  mirror." 

"  I  should  think  there  might  be  —  for 
some  persons." 

"  It  is  n't  altogether  vanity.  You  can't 
think  how  awkward  it  is  never  to  have  seen 
how  one's  skirts  hang.  Not  that  there  would 


A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  205 

be  much  pleasure  in  it,  for  mine  seem  to 
hang  very  badly." 

"  When  you  are  not  in  them." 

"  Why  do  you  say  those  things  ?  It  is  n't 
like  you,  and  I  don't  enjoy  it." 

"  You  must  get  used  to  it  if  you  are  going 
to  be  a  society  girl." 

"There  you  are  unjust.  Why  should  I 
not  wish  to  know  all  the  ways  ?  You  may 
think  I  shall  never  have  need  of  any  but  my 
own  ;  but  I  was  not  born  in  a  canon." 

"  Dolly,  my  —  well,  it  is  useless !  Words 
are  useless.  You  could  never  understand  — 
I  mean,  there  is  but  one  way  to  make  you. 
Will  you  take  my  arm  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I ?" 

"  Because  it  is  supposed  to  be  the  thing 
to  do." 

"Oh,"  said  Dolly,  meekly,  and  took  it. 
She  was  visibly  wrought  upon  by  her  sur 
roundings  in  a  way  that  might  have  amused 
Philip  more,  but  that  the  world  of  things 
had  had  such  serious  meanings  for  his 
mother,  who  was  a  priestess  of  bric-a-brac, 
and  studied  her  surroundings  as  if  the  art 
of  life,  like  that  of  the  stage,  largely  con 
sisted  in  how  one  is  costumed  and  in  what 
chair  one  shall  sit  —  and  he  grudged  this 


206  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

cult  its  possible  importance  in  the  girl's 
fresh  fate. 

"  There  is  another  thing,"  she  agitated 
dreamily,  as  they  passed  down  the  wide, 
thick-carpeted  stairs.  They  had  halted  on 
the  landing  to  get  the  effect  of  the  hall 
below,  and  the  light  of  a  colored  window 
threw  flaming  gules  and  amber  and  tints  of 
serpent  green  on  her  pale  golden  hair  and 
dark-clad  shoulders. 

"What  is  this  other  thing?  Something 
wicked  and  worldly,  of  course." 

"  No  ;  only  just  human.  Dancing  is  the 
right  of  every  girl  that  lives  and  moves,  and 
I  can  never  dance  because  there  is  no  way 
to  learn.  And  what  shall  I  do  if  ever  I  go 
where  dancing  is  ?  My  heart  would  break 
with  the  music !  Surely  it 's  as  bad  to  be 
foot-tied  as  tongue-tied;  and  they  talk  of 
nightingales  heart-stifled  in  their  dells  !  " 

"  This  is  very  serious,"  said  Philip.  "  I 
perfectly  agree  with  you ;  dancing  is  more  a 
girl's  right  than  silver-backed  brushes  and 
acres  of  wardrobe.  But  what  's  to  be  done 
about  it?" 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  dance  ?  " 

"  I  was  supposed  to  once." 

"  Ah,  then  could  you  teach  me  —  I  mean, 
would  you  ?  " 


A  BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  207 

"  Would  I  ?  well,  I  think  I  would  with 
some  persuasion  — '  con  mil  amores,'  "  he 
murmured  under  his  breath,  pressing  the 
arm  that  lay  in  his  against  his  side. 

Dolly  pushed  herself  away  from  him  an 
grily:— 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  excuse  you 
had  to  answer  me  like  that." 

"  You  asked  if  I  would  teach  you"  — 

"  And  you  might  have  said  yes  or  no,  as 
a  gentleman  would." 

"Well?" 

"  But  you  answer  offensively,  in  words 
you  could  n't  say  in  English." 

"  Could  n't  I !  Would  you  like  to  hear 
how  they  sound  in  English  ?  I  told  you  the 
simple  truth.  Would  I  teach  you  to  dance, 
you  asked  me,  and  I  said  I  would  with  a 
thousand  loves  —  and  I  will,  with  a  thousand 
thousand  !  To  dance  or  to  anything  else  I 
know  and  it  befits  you  to  know." 

"  Befits  !  I  have  no  words  —  I  declare  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  I  hate  the  way  you  treat 
me  !  Your  insufferable  patronage,  your  air 
of  being  always  so  superior  —  and  then  your 
stupid  school-boy  freedoms !  If  I  am  seri 
ous,  you  make  fun  of  me  ;  if  I  play,  you 
take  advantage.  I  wish  you  would  do  either 
the  one  thing  or  the  other." 


208  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Yes,"  breathed  Philip.  "  Only  tell  me 
which." 

"  Either  leave  me  alone  entirely,  or  treat 
me  —  treat  me  like  a  woman  —  a  person  of 
sense." 

Dolly  sat  down  in  a  dolorous  heap  on  the 
landing  step,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief ;  her  shoulders  shook  as  if  she 
were  crying. 

"  I  will,  Dolly."  He  took  the  place  on 
the  step  beside  her.  "  How  shall  I  treat 
this  person  of  sense  ?  " 

"  You  spoil  everything.  You  are  mak 
ing  fun  of  me  now,"  Dolly  sobbed,  and  by 
the  same  impulse  began  to  laugh  immoder 
ately. 

Philip  waited  till  she  became  quieter.  "  If 
I  am  to  treat  you  like  a  woman,  dear,  I  shall 
have  to  spoil  things  more  —  very  much  in 
deed.  And  things  might  be  a  good  deal 
worse  between  us  —  worse  for  me.  That  is 
why  I  am  waiting." 

Dolly,  with  her  face  still  hidden,  shook 
her  head  impatiently. 

"To  be  plain  with  you  is  one  way,"  he 
continued.  "  The  other  is  simply  impossible. 
It 's  no  use  pretending  I  could  live  in  the 
same  house  with  you  and  leave  you  alone 


A   BULLET  WITH  A  BILLET.  209 

entirely  ;  I  'm  not  '  superior  '  enough  for 
that.  Shall  we  be  serious,  then  ?  I  know 
I  often  hit  the  wrong  note  trying  to  make 
sounds  that  mean  nothing,  because  I  have  to 
avoid  the  one  note  that  would  go  to  my  soul. 
Would  it  spoil  things  very  much  if  you  knew 
that  I  love  you,  dear  ?  " 

Dolly  would  not  look  up.  He  could  see 
only  a  bit  of  her  neck,  above  the  collar,  and 
the  curve  of  one  little  crimson  ear. 

"I  shall  ask  for  nothing.  But  please 
get  used  to  the  fact.  Come,  take  my  hand ! 
It  need  not  worry  you  or  make  any  differ 
ence  ;  only  remember,  and  forgive  me  when 
I  blunder.  And  let  us  talk  and  laugh  and 
quarrel  as  we  did  before.  "Why  do  you 
hide  your  face  ?  Am  I  never  to  look  at  you 
again  ?  " 

"  Not  at  dinner,"  Dolly  specified. 

"Not  at  dinner,  then:  but  shall  we  not 
ride?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  sighed  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
"  I  wish  we  were  on  horseback  now." 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  they  rode  to 
the  canon,  the  three  young  ones  together, 
Dunsmuir  taking  the  team  home  alone. 
Alan  rode  ahead,  and  sometimes  he  sang  in 
his  loud,  expressionless  tenor ;  and  Philip 


210  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

noted  that  he  had  a  new  song,  a  very  tender 
one  —  "  Aforrado  de  mi  vida."  It  suited 
Philip  exquisitely  ;  it  voiced  his  aching 
dream.  "  Lining  of  my  life  ;  "  "  slender 
bit  lassie ; "  soul  of  the  mystic  soul  of 
beauty ;  dear  little  human  comrade  without 
whom  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  world 
were  nothing ;  foretold  to  her  lover  by  every 
hope,  withheld  by  every  fear ! 

She  rode  with  her  face  to  the  west ;  her 
pale  face,  her  hands,  her  hair,  were  lumi 
nous  as  flowers  at  evening  in  a  dusk  bor 
der.  Over  the  west,  from  horizon  to  zenith, 
spread  a  marvelous  copper-pink  glow,  a  light 
without  a  shadow,  while  all  the  land  beneath 
was  dark.  Low  in  that  sublimated  west 
Venus  shone  forth  at  her  setting,  the  one 
star  in  the  heavens,  though  crowds  awaited 
the  lifting  of  twilight's  colored  curtain. 
The  radiance  deepened ;  it  changed  to  a 
lurid,  brassy  hue.  The  sage-green  hills 
turned  livid ;  the  aspens  shivered  and  paled 
against  the  cold,  purple  east.  The  night- 
wind,  creeping  down  the  gulches,  breathed 
its  first  long  sough. 

They  checked  their  horses,  and  signed  to 
one  another  to  look  at  the  hills.  Slowly  the 
strange  refulgence  was  withdrawn ;  diffus- 


A   BULLET  WITH   A  BILLET.  211 

ing,  to  concentrate  later  on  a  lower  key,  to 
pause  and  softly  brighten  to  the  tender 
verge  of  starlight :  and  then  the  wind  would 
blow,  and  no  heart  not  strong  in  happiness 
could  bear  that  senseless  riot  and  rapture, 
prolonged  throughout  the  night,  under  wild 
reaches  of  midnight  sky,  under  the  white 
stride  of  the  Milky  Way ;  with  soundings  of 
the  river's  stops  ;  with  whisperings  amidst 
the  poplars'  dusky  files  —  cowled  shapes 
against  the  dark,  closing  and  parting,  with 
rifts  of  stars  between.  As  their  horses  jos 
tled  down  the  sidling  trails,  often  his  knee 
was  against  her  saddle-girth ;  and  once  he 
took  her  hand,  silently,  without  question, 
and  she  let  it  stay,  while  she  made  hurried 
little  speeches  about  the  view,  which  he  did 
not  attempt  to  answer.  His  heart  was  full ; 
he  took  deep  breaths  of  resolution  to  be 
patient,  —  perhaps  even  generous,  —  since, 
until  the  work  was  done,  all  the  canon  days, 
and  most  of  the  evenings,  were  his  in  which 
to  win  one  little  girl  who  had  seen  no  one 
else  (Dolly's  chances  were  not  so  many  that 
he  need  have  hurried  her).  But  never 
would  he  allow  her  to  pass  the  cafion's 
bounds  without  her  promise  given.  How 
would  the  story  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty  have 


212  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ended  had  the  Prince  waited  to  tell  his  love 
until  the  Princess  had  awakened  to  more 
than  just  himself  and  the  dull  old  palace  of 
her  dreams  ?  If  all  the  world  loves  a  lover, 
all  the  world  knows  that  he  is  selfish. 


XIV. 

ANOTHER  BREAK  IN  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

MARGARET  felt  herself  superseded,  in 
these  days,  and  thought  that  the  pressure  of 
waiting-  was  nothing  to  the  estrangements  of 
success.  Dolly  was  sweet,  sometimes  over- 
sweet,  in  speech  and  manner ;  but  she  was 
absent  in  mind,  variable  in  spirits,  incon 
stant  about  her  work,  and  less  and  less  with 
Margaret,  as  time  went  on,  and  more  and 
more  with  Philip.  Matters  went  often 
"  agley  "  in  the  housekeeping.  The  market 
ing,  which  had  been  Job's  business  in  town, 
on  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  was  now  the 
business  of  no  one  in  particular,  where  every 
body  was  so  driven  by  the  worH.  Mistakes 
were  made,  and  there  were  loose  expendi 
tures  that  harrowed  Margaret's  soul.  There 
was  a  constant  bustle  of  coming  and  going, 
and  company  not  expected,  and  meals  out 
of  season.  After  the  petty  routine  of  years, 
Margaret  had  lost  the  knack  of  doing 
things  quickly.  And  Dunsmuir  was  one 


214  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

who  hated  explanations.  He  never  listened 
to  them,  never  gave  them  if  he  could  help  it. 
Thus  he  misunderstood  many  little  domestic 
situations,  which  he  settled  offhand,  peremp 
torily  and  sometimes  unjustly,  sooner  than 
talk  things  over,  as  the  women  loved  to  do. 
But  Margaret  could  no  longer  count  upon 
Dolly.  It  goes  hard  with  one  lone  woman 
when  the  child  of  her  arms  who  once  under 
stood  understands  no  longer,  or  has  ceased, 
perhaps,  to  care.  Once  Margaret  had  had 
her  douce  little  man  every  night  to  comfort 
her  with  his  wise  silence  and  moderate  judg 
ment,  but  now  she  saw  him  only  Sundays, 
in  a  constrained,  unhomelike  way ;  she  would 
not  take  this  time  to  complain  of  things  too 
trivial  to  be  saved  up ;  yet  they  made  the 
sum  of  a  strain  which  was  beginning  to  tell 
upon  her  temper  and  health  and  spirits. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Dolly  that  Mar 
garet  could -have  anything  to  complain  of. 
She  had  never  asked,  but  she  supposed  that 
her  father  must  have  paid  his  debt ;  what 
could  he  be  doing  else  with  his  salary,  which 
seemed  wealth  to  Dolly  ?  She  knew  nothing 
of  the  cost  of  Western  living,  nor  of  the 
debts  in  town  to  people  who  were  not  so 
patient  as  Job  and  Margaret,  or  not  so  help- 


ANOTHER  BREAK  IN  THE  HOUSEHOLD.  215 

less.  The  wash  was  supposed,  now,  to  go 
below  to  a  Chinaman  at  the  camp ;  but 
Margaret  had  heard  of  the  heathen  custom 
of  mouth-sprinkling,  and,  week  by  week,  she 
snatched  from  pollution  what  she  called  the 
pick  of  the  wash,  and  did  it  herself,  and  got 
little  credit  for  doing  it.  She  saw  with  dis 
may  that  the  bed  and  table  linen  were  going 
fast,  nor  could  Dunsmuir  be  induced  to  re 
place  them,  according  to  her  ideas  of  econ 
omy,  with  cheaper  stuff,  fit  to  be  tossed  about 
in  the  .common  wash  and  whipped  to  rags  on 
the  line  by  winds  that  came  laden  with  dust. 

"  Have  we  no  more  linen  in  the  house  ?  " 
Dunsmuir  would  demand,  when  Margaret 
mentioned  buying.  There  was  linen,  to  be 
sure,  a  sacred  store  laid  by  in  trust  for 
Dolly  —  Margaret  would  have  been  ashamed, 
indeed,  of  her  stewardship  had  there  not 
been  fine  old  glossy  damask,  and  sheeting 
wide  and  heavy,  with  beautiful  embroidered 
markings,  tied  with  ribbons,  in  piles  of  doz 
ens  and  half-dozens,  and  fragrant  with  dried 
rose-leaves  and  with  lavender.  But  long 
before  she  had  got  through  this  explanation, 
Dunsmuir  would  cut  her  short. 

"  Use  what  we  have.  What  are  you  sav 
ing  it  for,  woman  ?  Do  ye  think  I  cannot 


216  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

buy  my  daughter  her  marriage  linen,  if  ever 
she  come  to  want  it  ?  " 

"  May  be,  then,  ye  '11  ken  how  many  pund 
sterling  went  t'  the  fillin'  of  thae  kists  ye  're 
sae  blythe  of  emp'ying." 

But  though  Margaret  had  in  a  measure 
her  say,  she  had  not  her  will.  No  more 
linen  was  bought,  and  she  was  forced  to  visit 
the  "  kists "  more  than  once,  reducing  the 
sacred  hoard,  at  what  cost  to  her  pride  and 
her  feeling's  no  one  in  the  house  took  the 

O 

trouble  to  understand.  Dolly  had  taken  an 
irritating  way  of  rousing  herself,  periodi 
cally,  to  an  unwonted  critical  interest  in  the 
house,  when  she  would  do  over  portions  of 
Margaret's  work  without  advising  her  or 
stating  her  objections.  This  was  as  much 
as  the  older  woman  could  bear ;  and  at  times 
she  saw  no  good  reason  why  she  should 
stay  where  even  her  work  failed  to  satisfy. 
Yet  she  felt  that  never  had  Dolly  needed 
her  as  now,  though  the  child  knew  it  not. 
Margaret  watched  her,  in  her  light  but  per 
ilous  intercourse  with  the  first  young 
stranger  she  had  known,  distrusting  Philip, 
distrusting  the  powers  of  nature  to  protect 
Dolly  from  piteous  delusions,  distrusting  the 
whole  connection,  business  and  social,  with 


ANOTHER  BREAK  IN  THE  HOUSEHOLD.    217 

the  sinister  house  of  Norrisson.  She  would 
stand  her  ground,  was  her  determination, 
though  all  should  feel  her  in  the  way.  Both 
Dunsmuir  and  Dolly  were  as  children,  mis 
led  and  bedazed,  in  Margaret's  eyes. 

Meanwhile  a  trouble  of  her  own  was 
creeping  upon  her,  and  she  failed  to  read 
the  warnings.  Job  had  come,  one  Sunday, 
in  a  sad  condition  of  bruises ;  she  was 
ashamed  to  have  him  seen  of  the  family. 
He  had  had  a  fall,  he  told  her :  but  it 
seemed  a  simple  thing,  for  a  man  of  his  age, 
to  tumble  off  his  own  cabin  steps  in  broad 
day.  She  upbraided  him  for  clumsiness ; 
she  even  suspected  a  more  discreditable 
cause,  and  repented  the  suspicion  afterward 
with  tears.  On  another  Sunday  he  com 
plained  of  his  head,  and  spoke  heavily  of 
the  work  as  though  it  were  too  much  for  him. 
Margaret  thought  her  man  was  getting  baby 
ish  ;  it  ill  consorted  with  their  circumstances 
that  he  should  be  discouraged  with  work  at 
fifty-five.  It  fretted  her  that  he  seemed  to 
grow  forgetful  of  things  she  told  him,  of  mes 
sages  and  errands ;  his  slowness  of  speech 
seemed  to  have  affected  his  comprehension. 
She  was  often  impatient  with  him,  often  ir 
ritable,  while  he  grew  more  stolid,  it  seemed, 


218  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

and  often  slept  away  the  greater  part  of  the 
one  day  they  had  together.  More  than  once 
he  spoke  as  if  he  expected  her  to  keep  house 
for  him  in  the  autumn,  at  their  homestead, 
quite  as  if  she  were  a  young,  uutrammeled 
girl.  It  irritated  her,  after  all  that  had 
come  and  gone,  to  have  to  explain  that  she 
could  not  leave  her  child  alone  in  a  family 
of  men-folk,  with  a  Chinaman  in  the  kitchen 
who  would  take  advantage  and  waste  the 
food  and  fuel,  and  break  the  dishes  and  hide 
the  pieces,  and  warp  the  brooms,  and  use  the 
best  towels  to  clean  the  paint.  Job  should 
know  these  things  without  words;  and  the 
words  were  forgotten  by  the  next  Sunday, 
and  the  delusion  abided  that  she  belonged 
to  none  but  him,  and  was  free  to  go  when 
he  asked  her.  She  was  the  more  round  with 
him  that  she  was  conscious  herself  of  a  secret 
leaning  toward  the  same  folly.  Both  she 
and  Job  were  too  old  to  work  at  the  pleasure 
of  others.  They  needed  their  own  times, 
and  to  work  in  their  own  way.  This  Mar 
garet  felt,  but  saw  no  way  to  indulge  the 
weakness ;  and  she  had  no  more  hesitation 
in  sacrificing  Job  to  the  family  than  herself, 
for  was  he  not  her  "  man  "  ? 

One  Sunday  he  told   her  that  she  must 


ANOTHER  BREAK  IN  THE  HOUSEHOLD.  219 

make  up  her  mind,  for  that  he  had  given 
notice  of  his  intention  to  "  quit "  work  for 
the  company.  Word  had  gone  forth  that 
the  water  would  be  down  as  far  as  his  land 
by  the  following  spring,  and  if  they  were  to 
benefit  by  it,  it  was  none  too  soon  to  get  their 
land  in  shape.  He  had  waited  too  many 
years  now,  he  said,  to  lose  the  first  season. 

Margaret  was  astonished  at  Job's  forth- 
puttingness,  venturing  to  make  such  a  deci 
sion  without  consulting  her.  However,  the 
thing  was  done  ;  he  could  not  be  off  and  on 
with  a  job  like  that.  It  gave  some  shadow 
of  excuse,  she  was  weak  enough  to  own,  to 
her  own  desertion.  The  bitterest  part  of 
that  business  was  the  evidence  of  her  senses, 
sharpened  by  feeling,  that  no  one  felt  the 
parting  as  she  did.  Dolly  did  not  realize 
—  how  should  she,  who  had  always  had  a 
Margaret  ?  —  what  it  would  be  not  to  have 
one.  And  she  was  as  happy  as  a  child  in 
the  prospect  of  visiting  Margaret  in  her  own 
house  ;  she  had  never  had  a  place  to  visit. 
She  was  busy,  too,  sorting  over  her  closets 
and  bureaus  for  little  additions  to  Mar 
garet's  humble  outfit ;  jellies  and  canned 
fruits  and  dishes  that  could  be  spared,  and 
towels  and  napkins  and  pillows,  from  the 


220  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

hoard  Margaret  had  guarded.  These  things 
Margaret  flatly  refused,  with  a  flushed  and 
tearful  face,  —  would  she  rob  the  house,  in 
deed  !  —  but  they  were  packed  and  smuggled 
into  the  wagon  without  her  knowledge. 

Nothing,  since  Alan's  frank  desertion  to 
the  commercial  side  of  the  scheme,  had  hurt 
Duusmuir  like  the  sight  of  that  honest  pair, 
with  their  boxes  and  humble  effects  piled 
around  them,  jolting  out  of  sight  down  the 
canon  road,  with  the  knowledge  they  would 
never  come  back  as  they  went.  It  would  so 
have  comforted  Job  and  Margaret  had  they 
known ;  but  Dunsmuir  was  too  proud  to 
dwell  upon  his  sentiments  to  these  people  to 
whom  he  owed  hard  money.  In  a  month  or 
two  he  hoped  to  make  all  square  ;  he  would 
take  that  opportunity  to  speak  of  the  greater 
—  the  one  beyond  return. 


XV. 

AT    THE    KITCHEN    BOOK. 

MARGARET  had  been  able  to  choose  her 
successor,  a   young   woman   who   presented 
herself  with   an   appositeness  which  might 
have  been   called  providential  but   for  the 
drawback  of  a  ten-months-old  baby.     Mar 
garet  made  light  of  the  baby  in  comparison 
with  the  baby's  dire  alternative,  a  Chinaman ; 
and  the  family  assented.     No  one  likes  to 
think  one's  self  so  inhuman  as  to  mind  a 
baby.    A  baby,  Margaret  claimed,  steadies  a 
young  woman  and  gives  her  ambition ;  she 
had  seen  a  slender   bit  nursing  mother  go 
through  the  same  work,  and  find  time  to  rest 
and  tidy  herself,  that  "  twa   jaukin'  hizzies 
wad  be  dallyin'  with  the  lee-lang  day."    The 
young  woman's  husband  was  busy,  like  Job, 
getting   his   land   in   shape   for   the  water, 
which  had  been  promised  by  the  following 
spring. 

It  was  several  weeks  before  the  admission 
crept  out  that  the  baby  was  getting  oppres- 


222  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

sive.  They  continued  to  give  themselves 
credit  for  the  feelings  proper  to  the  baby 
and  to  Jenny,  who  was  doing  her  best  to 
combine  her  natural  duties  with  those  for 
which  she  was  paid.  The  baby  was  a  splen 
did,  great,  fair,  brown-eyed  boy  baby  ;  they 
were  the  ideal  settler's  wife  and  child,  the 
very  people  for  whom  the  canal  was  build 
ing.  All  this  made  it  harder  to  confess  that 
so  appropriate  a  connection  was  far  from 
comfortable.  Dolly,  who  had  entered  with 
girlish  enthusiasm  into  the  scheme,  had  won 
Jenny's  heart  at  the  outset  by  her  sweet,  in 
viting  ways  with  the  baby,  of  whose  position 
in  the  family  the  mother  was  naturally  jeal 
ous  ;  but  Dolly's  success  was  her  own  undoing 
—  the  baby  screamed  to  go  to  her  whenever 
he  saw  her  in  the  distance.  She  had  pleased 
him  too  well ;  she  had  rashly  admitted  him 
to  her  own  part  of  the  house,  far  more  at 
tractive  than  the  kitchen,  and  thereafter, 
short  of  downright  forcible  expulsion,  he 
was  not  to  be  denied.  He  could  creep  faster 
than  a  clock  ticks,  and  as,  in  the  summer 
weather,  doors  were  left  wide,  the  sound  of 
his  scuffling  toes  and  his  bubbles  and  guggles 
of  delight  became  a  comic  source  of  terror. 
She  felt  constrained  to  keep  up  her  charac- 


AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOR.  223 

ter,  too  ambitiously  assumed.  She  sympa 
thized  with  Jenny,  and  tried  dishonestly  to 
persuade  her  that  the  baby  was  no  trouble  to 
any  one  ;  and  between  specious  protestations 
to  the  mother,  tyrannous  exactions  on  the 
part  of  the  baby,  and  her  own  secret  dismay, 
Dolly's  path  became  daily  more  complicated 
and  arduous. 

Philip  despised  the  baby  because  it  took 
up  precious  moments  of  Dolly's  time  that 
he  had  formerly  been  able  to  monopolize. 
Dunsmuir  found  all  his  autocratic  habits 
trampled  upon  by  that  terrible,  sunny-headed 
radical,  who  was  always  underfoot  when  he 
was  not  in  Dolly's  arms,  or  swinging  by  his 
mother's  skirts,  or  pulling  things  off  the 
kitchen  table,  or  mixing  himself  up  in  squalid 
fashion  with  the  sacred  ceremonies  of  dinner, 
or  digging  holes  in  the  flower-beds,  or  strew 
ing  the  piazza  floor  with  his  idols,  —  bits  of 
coal  or  chicken  bones  or  mumbled  crusts  of 
bread,  —  and  leaving  indispensable  parts  of 
his  clothing  about  in  conspicuous  places,  to 
be  hastily  gotten  rid  of  or  f  utilely  ignored. 
The  young  settler  had  a  habit  of  screaming 
at  meal-times,  occasions  which  seemed  to  ex 
cite  him  and  to  remind  him  of  his  own  in 
fringed  rights.  Jenny  would  dash  in  and 


224  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

out  with  a  flushed  face  and  a  high-strung 
manner,  the  tension  of  her  nerves  increasing 
with  the  baby's  notorious  demands.  In  her 
brief  disappearances  she  would  catch  him  up 
violently  and  remove  him  farther  and  far 
ther  from  his  audience  in  the  dining-room, 
scolding  till  both  his  heart  and  her  own  were 
quite  broken.  When  his  cries  came  for 
lornly  from  his  place  of  banishment  in  the 
woodshed,  Dolly,  unable  to  bear  the  appear 
ance  of  heartlessness  any  longer,  would  rise 
to  the  rescue,  and  the  meal  would  end  dis 
tractedly  for  all.  Dolly  began  secretly  to 
dislike  the  baby,  almost  to  wish  some  reason 
able  fault  could  be  found  with  Jenny,  as  an 
excuse  for  terminating  a  relation  so  exposing 
to  all  her  own  unsuspected  weaknesses.  It 
was  humiliating  to  think  how  little  Marga 
ret  would  have  made  of  this  pother  about  a 
baby.  Her  hands  would  never  have  been 
too  clean,  nor  her  gowns  too  fresh  and  fine, 
to  nurse  him,  the  young  rascal,  when  his 
mother  needed  relief. 

It  was  helplessly  agreed,  in  the  family,  that 
to  send  away  Jenny  for  no  fault  but  that  she 
was  a  mother  would  be  too  monstrous ;  but 
they  were  ripe  for  any  desperate  measure  of 
relief.  Jenny  had  a  young  sister,  a  lass  of 


AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOR.  225 

twelve,  whom  it  was  now  proposed  to  have 
up  from  town,  to  mind  the  baby  and  betimes 
to  help  Jenny  with  her  work.  But  wages, 
it  proved,  were  no  object  to  Jenny's  parents, 
compared  to  the  loss  of  a  winter's  schooling 
for  their  youngest  daughter.  They  were  a 
nomadic,  tent-and-wagon  family,  and  there 
fore  the  more  regardful  of  educational  op 
portunities  when  they  came  in  their  way. 
In  extremity,  Dolly  offered  to  remove  the 
difficulty  by  herself  undertaking  to  teach  the 
lass ;  and  so  it  was  arranged.  Two  hours 
each  day  she  gave  to  the  sowing  of  seed  on 
that  wild  and  stony  soil,  and  very  profitable, 
on  the  whole,  was  the  exercise  —  to  the 
teacher.  But  Philip  rebelled  against  these 
baffling  and  separating  influences.  The  at 
mosphere  of  the  household  was  changed  ; 
it  was  no  longer  feudal  and  concentrated. 
Other  matters  besides  the  work  had  started 
up,  with  much  intrusive  bustle,  and  Dolly 
was  serving  a  housekeeper's  apprenticeship 
instead  of  falling  sweetly  and  securely  in 
love. 

On  one  of  the  evenings  when  Philip  dined 
in  town,  chance  presented  him  with  an  awk 
ward  discovery.  Alan  had  gone  with  a 
party  of  young  girls  to  a  play  given  by  a 


226  THE   CHOSEN   VALLEY. 

traveling  company.  Philip  was  not  much 
concerned  for  the  lad's  sentimental  relations 
in  these  days,  although  the  latter  had  con 
fessed  to  having  returned  Antonia  Vargas 
her  bullet ;  the  confession  being  incident  to 
his  having  had  to  borrow  of  Philip  to  pay 
for  mounting  the  same.  He  claimed  to  have 
sent  it  partly  as  a  joke,  —  a  trifle  fervid  in 
the  accompanying  sentiment,  possibly ;  but  a 
girl  accustomed,  in  her  own  language,  to  the 
metaphorical  kissing  of  hands  and  feet,  could 
not  be  supposed  to  take  umbrage  at  a  word, 
though  strong. 

He  had  cudgeled  his  wits  for  days,  he  said, 
and  looked  through  stacks  of  books  for  a 
text  not  exceeding  in  space  one  inch  of  en 
graver's  small  script ;  but  nothing  could  he 
find  to  the  purpose  of  a  wound  but  that  stale 
bit  of  Latin.  Virtue  would  not  go,  of  course, 
and  gratitude  had  sounded  a  trifle  prudent. 
Such  had  been  Alan's  explanation,  if  sincere, 
and  Philip  had  no  reason  to  doubt  him. 

He  was  smoking  at  the  window  of  his  bed 
room,  in  the  wing,  opening  on  a  grass  court 
in  rear  of  the  house.  On  the  kitchen  porch 
below  Enrique  was  conversing  with  a  shy 
figure,  lately  known  on  the  streets  of  the 
town  as  a  peddler  of  tomales.  She  was  a 


AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOM.  227 

bent  old  woman  with  a  brown  face,  which 
she  kept  well  hidden  under  the  peaked  hood 
of  her  invariable  black  shawl.  Twice  a  week 
she  brought  tomales  and  enchillalas  to  the 
house,  and  gossiped  with  Enrique.  With 
out  paying  much  attention,  he  caught  the 
monotonous  cadence  of  their  voices,  until 
a  sentence  distinguished  itself,  remarkable 
enough,  coming  from  the  vender  of  tomales. 
Enrique  had  asked  her  a  question,  and  this 
was  her  answer : 

"  The  Father  says  that  I  am  still  in  sin ; 
he  cannot  give  me  absolution.  I  think  it  is 
merely  an  excuse  to  put  off  my  marriage  with 
Antonia.  I  am  not  worse  than  others  that 
he  should  distinguish  against  me." 

"  You  are  wrong  to  say  that  of  the  Father, 
Pacheco.  He  knows  that  confession  such  as 
yours  comes  but  from  the  lips,  not  from  the 
heart.  You  would  confess  to  the  devil  him 
self  if  that  were  the  only  road  to  marriage 
with  Antonia." 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  venture  back  so  soon ;  I 
should  have  waited  till  matters  were  quiet. 
But  I  died,  Enrique,  thinking  of  them  to 
gether  in  that  cursed  pit !  " 

"  It  was  a  meeting  of  your  own  contriv- 
ing." 


228  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  not.  Did  I  invite  him 
to  the  cave  ?  Once  there,  what  could  I  do 
with  him?  Set  him  free,  and  he  would 
prattle  of  what  he  had  seen,  and  they  would 
hunt  me  like  a  badger.  Keep  him  with  me  ? 
There  was  not  food  enough  for  two.  There 
was  scant  for  one,  till  Antonia  should  arrive, 
at  the  time  appointed.  The  pity  was  that  I 
had  bowels  and  left  him  the  key  to  the  well, 
or  that  I  did  not  crack  his  skull  a  little 
harder  when  I  threw  him  in  the  cave." 

"  A  pity  to  spoil  a  better  case  than  your 
own.  He  has  the  face  of  the  blessed  St. 
Michael." 

The  tomale  woman  shook  in  her  bundled 
rags  like  a  sheaf  of  withered  corn.  Her 
words  were  a  choking  growl. 

"  Bah  !  the  boy  is  not  a  madman  like  you. 
He  is  not  bitten  to  the  soul."  Enrique 
spoke.  "  Antonia  may  never  have  looked 
at  him  but  in  compassion,  as  the  angels 
might,  seeing  the  state  she  found  him  in. 
The  keys  of  your  cave  were  a  candle  to  the 
blind.  Had  she  been  a  day  later  he  had  not 
been  worth  loading  a  donkey  with." 

"  You  have  fatted  him  till  now  he  could 
carry  the  donkey  himself." 

"  All  that  I  ever   said  was  "  —  Enrique 


AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOR.  229 

spoke  again  —  "  he  has  looked  at  her.  Very 
good  ;  so  has  many  another  long-legged  cox 
comb  about  the  town." 

"  And  I  am  forbidden  the  house  till  her 
father's  return." 

"Yes,  but  you  are  her  novio,  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing." 

"  If  I  am  a  wolf,  what  is  he  ?  " 
"  A  very  white  little  lamb  beside  you.  If 
he  sees  her,  it  is  in  the  American  fashion, 
which  means  anything  or  nothing."  En 
rique's  shoulders  went  up;  his  hands  said 
the  rest.  "  Extraordinary  people  !  He  has 
gone  with  three  of  them  to-night,  his  little 
countrywomen  ;  not  a  gray  hair  nor  a  wed 
ding  ring  in  the  company.  You  might  hear 
their  parrot  voices  screaming  the  length  of 
the  street.  With  him  it  is  not  Antonia ;  it 
is  any  girl." 

"  I  am  in  hell  with  thinking  on  them." 
"  You  will  get  there  fast  enough  without 
so  much  thinking." 

Philip  reported  this  conversation  to  Duns- 
muir.  It  was  agreed,  now,  that  Alan  must 
be  sent  away  ;  but  where  ? 

The  family  wound  still  rankled.  The 
family  itself,  on  the  other  side,  had  greatly 


230  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

changed  in  fifteen  years.  The  present  mem 
bers  had  their  own  burdens,  sufficient  to 
their  incomes ;  correspondence  had  nearly 
ceased. 

"  Chuck  him  into  a  big  school,  and  let  him 
strike  out  for  himself  and  learn  his  insignifi 
cance,"  said  Philip. 

"  Send  him  to  heaven,  if  you  happen  to 
know  the  way ! "  was  Dunsmuir's  answer. 
The  American  schools  were  all  alike,  in  his 
estimation  ;  skin  deep  in  scholarship,  vulgar 
in  tone,  inordinately  expensive. 

Then  Philip  somewhat  diffidently  pro 
posed  the  Continent  as  a  compromise,  with 
his  mother's  assistance  in  placing  Alan  at 
Zurich  or  Vevay.  She  would  dote  on  an 
other  boy  to  "  run  "  in  vacations  ;  and  Alan 
would  find  it  not  so  disagreeable  to  be 
preached  to  by  an  adorable  woman,  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother,  who,  as  she  was 
not  his  mother,  would  know  when  to  "  let 
up." 

To  his  surprise,  Dunsmuir  fell  in  with 
the  proposition  at  once.  Philip  cabled  his 
mother,  and  wrote,  sending  Alan's  picture ; 
the  lad's  good  looks,  he  well  knew,  would  be 
a  great  point  in  his  favor.  Meantime  Philip 
talked  to  him  like  an  elder  brother.  He 


AT  THE  KITCHEN  DOOR.  231 

could  have  wished  to  see  him  more  touched 
in  the  temper,  and  less  placidly  nattered,  bv 
the  attention  his  pastimes  excited.  Duns- 
muir  raved  over  the  cost ;  a  cool  thousand 
it  meant  at  the  first  go  off,  and  he  had  prom 
ised  his  next  surplus  to  Job,  who  needed  the 
money  at  once  on  his  land.  No  matter ;  the 
old  people  must  wait.  Dunsmuir  felt  the 
want  of  money  all  the  more,  now  that  he  had 
begun  to  straighten  his  affairs  and  to  handle 
a  salary  again.  He  was  impatient  to  be  free. 
Pacheco  had  been  arrested.  Vargas  had 
returned,  with  his  mules,  from  Sheep  Moun 
tain,  and  was  looking  after  his  daughter. 
Alan  was  on  parole.  Dolly  was  cold,  and 
would  not  talk  of  her  brother.  Her  shame 
for  him  went  hard  with  her ;  it  was  like  a 
bilious  sickness.  She  was  for  abjuring  sen 
timent  henceforth  in  any  and  every  form. 
Away  with  it  all !  The  lights  were  out  in 
her  own  secret  place  of  worship ;  cold  day 
light  showed  the  images  —  mere  tawdry 
dolls;  her  flowers  of  passion  were  turned 
to  rags  and  shreds  of  tinsel.  Not  one  kind 
word  could  Philip  get  from  her  in  her  re 
volt  ;  not  a  single  acknowledgment  of  all 
that  had  so  nearly  come  to  pass  between 
them. 


XVI. 

DUNSMUIK'S  PRICE. 

THE  river  was  now  at  its  lowest.  Coffer 
dams  were  in  place,  which  were  to  cramp  it 
and  turn  it  aside,  and  at  night,  when  the 
pile-drivers,  and  the  steam-hoists,  and  the 
dump-carts  were  silent,  the  harassed  stream 
made  loud  its  complaint.  Dunsmuir  had 
been  ordered  to  "go  ahead"  and  put  in  his 
dam  on  a  pile  foundation,  where  the  rock 
gave  out,  that  water  might  be  turned  into 
the  ditch  by  May  1,  in  time  to  reap  the 
next  season's  crop  of  contracts.  He  had 
protested  in  vain  against  the  issuing  of  con 
tracts  which  called  for  this  early  delivery  of 
water.  He  had  submitted  his  own  plan  of 
the  dam  —  excavation,  till  solid  rock  should 
be  reached,  that  the  masonry  might  rise  in 
one  coherent  mass  from  a  permanent  and  ho 
mogeneous  foundation.  But  such  construc 
tion  demanded  more  time  than  the  contracts 
were  giving  him. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  piles  and  con- 


DUNSMUIR' S  PRICE.  233 

crete  ?  "  Norrisson  had  asked  ;  and  he  men 
tioned  several  dams  with  pile  foundations 
that  were  doing  their  duty.  While  in  Den 
ver,  soon  afterward,  he  took  the  occasion  of 
meeting  a  friend,  an  engineer  of  reputation, 
to  put  the  case  of  the  Wallula  dam,  and 
asked  his  opinion.  The  engineer  gave  it, 
unofficially,  on  the  facts  as  Norrisson  pre 
sented  them  ;  he  said  that  a  pile  foundation 
would  serve.  Norrisson  quoted  him  trium 
phantly  to  Dunsmuir,  who  was  unshaken, 
though  considerably  irritated  by  Norrisson's 
methods  of  warfare.  If  he  had  wanted  a  con 
sulting  engineer  why  had  he  not  retained 
one,  and  got  his  report  after  a  personal  ex 
amination  ?  The  argument  ceased,  in  words. 
A  few  days  thereafter  Dunsmuir  received 
an  official  communication  to  the  following 
effect:  — 

DEAR  SIR  :  It  will  be  necessary  to  proceed 
immediately  with  the  construction  of  the  dam,  in 
accordance  with  the  plan  suggested  by  me  and 
discussed  in  our  last  conversation.  You  may  con 
sider  this  authoritative.  Very  truly  yours, 
PRICE  NORRISSON, 

Manager. 
ROBERT  DUNSMUIR, 

Chief  Engineer. 


234  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Such  a  command,  from  the  manager  to 
the  chief  engineer,  precisely  indicated  the 
relation  between  them,  as  Norrisson  intended 
it  should.  The  chief's  resignation  was  in 
order,  else  he  would  remain  as  the  servant 
of  the  company,  not  the  responsible  agent  of 
the  work.  In  his  first  outburst  of  indigna 
tion  Dunsmuir  wrote  the  answer  which  the 
situation  demanded.  It  was  some  consola 
tion  to  watch  Philip's  face,  while  he  read  it 
aloud  to  him  with  satisfied  emphasis. 

"  Understand,  I  don't  make  it  personal." 
Dunsmuir  looked  kindly,  almost  fondly,  at 
Philip,  who  had  not  a  word  to  say.  "  It  is 
the  old  issue,  the  same  that  parted  us  the  first 
time.  It  has  parted  better  friends  than  your 
father  and  I  ever  pretended  to  be  ;  and  I 
don't  say  the  alternative  is  of  his  contriving. 
I  was  my  own  promoter  some  weary  years ;  I 
should  know  something  of  the  difficulties  on 
that  side.  But  my  choice  is  plain.  I  must 
stick  to  the  first  principle  in  our  profession, 
Philip  :  the  honest  builder  can  wait,  he  can 
fail,  he  can  starve;  he  cannot  botch  his 
work.  I  speak  for  myself,  who  am  the  only 
one  accountable." 

"  I  shall  leave  the  work  when  you  do." 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  need  ;  and  I  should 
be  as  jealous  for  you  as  for  my  son." 


DUNSMUIRS  PRICE.  235 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,  sir,  for  the  sake  of 
adding  my  protest,  and  because  of  what  you 
have  just  said." 

"  There  are  moments  of  defeat  worth  more 
than  many  a  victory,"  said  Dunsmuir. 

But  in  the  silence  of  night,  when  conse 
quences  obtrude,  he  revised  his  decision. 
No  man  may  be  captive,  even  to  his  own 
will,  for  as  long  as  Dunsmuir,  without  suffer 
ing  the  prison  change.  If  Norrisson's  com 
pany  owned  the  scheme,  the  scheme  owned 
Dunsmuir ;  and  he  knew  it,  now.  He 
thought  of  his  debts  ;  of  his  children,  rest 
less  and  half  educated  ;  of  his  forsaken  con 
nections  in  the  world  that  no  longer  knew 
him.  A  morbid  dread  of  change  had  grown 
upon  him ;  his  fixed  life  had  singularly, 
appealingly  unfitted  him  for  a  fresh  start. 
He  had  lost  the  habit  of  society ;  he  was  out 
of  touch  with  the  new  movements  in  his  pro 
fession  ;  he  had  no  elasticity,  no  imagination, 
no  conviction  left  for  any  new  work,  so  long 
as  he  was  chained  to  this.  He  knew  his 
bondage  at  last,  and  his  soul  cried  out  against 
it ;  yet  he  could  not  go  forth,  a  penniless, 
broken  man,  with  the  scars  of  failure  upon 
him.  He  had  worn  out  his  powers  of  wait 
ing.  A  specious  victory  had  granted  him 


234  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Such  a  command,  from  the  manager  to 
the  chief  engineer,  precisely  indicated  the 
relation  between  them,  as  Norrisson  intended 
it  should.  The  chief's  resignation  was  in 
order,  else  he  would  remain  as  the  servant 
of  the  company,  not  the  responsible  agent  of 
the  work.  In  his  first  outburst  of  indigna 
tion  Dunsmuir  wrote  the  answer  which  the 
situation  demanded.  It  was  some  consola 
tion  to  watch  Philip's  face,  while  he  read  it 
aloud  to  him  with  satisfied  emphasis. 

"  Understand,  I  don't  make  it  personal." 
Dunsmuir  looked  kindly,  almost  fondly,  at 
Philip,  who  had  not  a  word  to  say.  "  It  is 
the  old  issue,  the  same  that  parted  us  the  first 
time.  It  has  parted  better  friends  than  your 
father  and  I  ever  pretended  to  be ;  and  I 
don't  say  the  alternative  is  of  his  contriving. 
I  was  my  own  promoter  some  weary  years ;  I 
should  know  something  of  the  difficulties  on 
that  side.  But  my  choice  is  plain.  I  must 
stick  to  the  first  principle  in  our  profession, 
Philip :  the  honest  builder  can  wait,  he  can 
fail,  he  can  starve ;  he  cannot  botch  his 
work.  I  speak  for  myself,  who  am  the  only 
one  accountable." 

"  I  shall  leave  the  work  when  you  do." 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  need  ;  and  I  should 
be  as  jealous  for  you  as  for  my  son." 


DUNSMUIR' S  PRICE.  235 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,  sir,  for  the  sake  of 
adding  my  protest,  and  because  of  what  you 
have  just  said." 

"  There  are  moments  of  defeat  worth  more 
than  many  a  victory,"  said  Dunsmuir. 

But  in  the  silence  of  night,  when  conse 
quences  obtrude,  he  revised  his  decision. 
No  man  may  be  captive,  even  to  his  own 
will,  for  as  long  as  Dunsmuir,  without  suffer 
ing  the  prison  change.  If  Norrisson's  com 
pany  owned  the  scheme,  the  scheme  owned 
Dunsmuir ;  and  he  knew  it,  now.  He 
thought  of  his  debts  ;  of  his  children,  rest 
less  and  half  educated  ;  of  his  forsaken  con 
nections  in  the  world  that  no  longer  knew 
him.  A  morbid  dread  of  change  had  grown 
upon  him ;  his  fixed  life  had  singularly, 
appealingly  unfitted  him  for  a  fresh  start. 
He  had  lost  the  habit  of  society ;  he  was  out 
of  touch  with  the  new  movements  in  his  pro 
fession  ;  he  had  no  elasticity,  no  imagination, 
no  conviction  left  for  any  new  work,  so  long 
as  he  was  chained  to  this.  He  knew  his 
bondage  at  last,  and  his  soul  cried  out  against 
it ;  yet  he  could  not  go  forth,  a  penniless, 
broken  man,  with  the  scars  of  failure  upon 
him.  He  had  worn  out  his  powers  of  wait 
ing.  A  specious  victory  had  granted  him 


236  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  respite  of  three  months  of  action,  in  com 
mand  of  forces  he  called  his  own  ;  he  could 
not  bear,  now,  to  feel  the  screws  take  hold 
again  in  the  same  old  shrinking  places. 

Then  followed  those  lower  considerations 
that  lie  in  wait  for  moments  of  irresolution 
to  worry  the  doubting  heart.  The  truth 
concerning  his  resignation  would  never  be 
known.  Gossip  would  have  it,  in  circles 
where  an  engineer's  reputation  is  discussed, 
that  here  was  a  presumptuous  dreamer  who 
fancied  himself  called  to  a  great  work,  who, 
after  more  than  a  decade  spent  in  contem 
plating  it,  was  found  unequal  to  the  initial 
problem  of  its  f ulfillment.  How  he  hated 
that  word  theorist !  there  was  nothing  he  so 
loved  as  to  be  considered  practical.  Now, 
the  practical  man  would  be  his  successor. 
He  would  reap  the  honors  should  the  dam 
stand ;  if  it  went  out,  how  easily  the  blame 
might  be  shifted  back  upon  the  theorist. 
Dunsmuir  was  well  acquainted  with  the  dark 
side  of  his  profession  —  the  long  waitings, 
the  jealousies,  the  wrested  honors,  and  the 
bitter  rewards.  He  knew  how  a  man's  one 
mistake  may  follow  him  to  his  grave,  while 
his  successes  are  forgotten  or  credited  to 
another. 


DUNSMUIR'S  PRICE.  237 

At  daybreak,  when  the  wind  fell,  and 
with  it  a  silence  upon  the  sleeping  house,  he 
stole  out  from  his  bedroom  to  the  office,  and 
abstracted  his  letter  of  resignation  from  the 
post-bag.  His  decision  was  already  reversed, 
yet  he  hesitated  before  the  act  that  should 
cancel  all  that  brave  talk  of  the  night  be 
fore. 

Yet  why  assume  that  it  was  a  betrayal  of 
the  work  ?  What  are  the  risks  that  success 
will  not  justify  ?  It  was  well  enough  known 
in  the  history  of  engineering  that  there  is  an 
heroic  margin,  outside  the  beaten  track  of 
precedent,  which  bold  spirits  yet  may  tread. 
He  was  half  angry  with  Philip,  now,  as  he 
thought  of  their  conversation,  that  the 
younger  man  should  have  seen  no  way  out 
of  the  difficulty  but  his  chief's  resignation. 
Decidedly  Philip  was  too  conservative.  Of 
what  use  to  be  twenty-three  and  an  Ameri 
can  !  The  letter  was  torn  into  bits  and  went 
into  the  waste-basket,  and  Dunsmuir  sat  out 
the  dawn,  and  heard  the  house  awake, 
scarcely  moving,  face  to  face  with  the  first 
deep,  secret  humiliation  of  his  life.  By 
breakfast  time  he  had  got  his  most  present 
able  arguments  in  order.  He  sat  working 
them,  in  silence,  during  the  meal,  and  when 


238  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

it  was  over  he  summoned  Philip  into  the 
office,  and  said  to  him  coldly :  — 

"  I  have  called  a  halt,  Norrisson.  It  is  too 
late  now  to  back  out  of  the  work  ;  it  would 
be  desertion.  I  do  not  give  orders  here,  it 
seems,  but  that  is  the  fortune  of  war.  They 
have  captured  my  scheme  by  the  strong  arm. 
They  can  make  what  hash  of  it  they  please  ; 
but  for  better  or  worse  I  stay  with  it,  and 
pride  may  go  to  the  dogs.  My  pride  shall 
consist  in  making  the  dam  as  strong  as  their 
infernal  meddling  will  let  me.  If  it  goes,  at 
least  I  shall  know  all  was  done  that  could 
be  done,  with  such  a  management  in  the  sad 
dle.  I  know  no  fathers  nor  fathers'  sons  in 
this  business.  It  's  a  fight,  and  they  have 
won.  Let  them  make  the  most  of  it." 

There  was  little  Philip  could  say,  not  seem 
ing  to  remind  Dunsmuir  of  his  recantation. 
Dunsmuir  understood  him.  They  spent  a 
bad  day,  each  inside  his  defenses.  The 
pause  in  the  work  left  them  conscious  of 
each  other's  presence  as  a  burden,  in  the 
room  where  they  had  labored  and  argued  to 
gether  harmoniously.  Philip  brought  on  the 
explosion  by  a  restless  allusion  to  Dolly. 
He  was  always  trying  the  ice  of  Dunsmnir's 
doubtful  sanction,  boy-fashion,  to  know  when 


DUNSMUIRS  PRICE.  239 

it  would  bear.  To-day  he  ventured  too  far  ; 
it  cracked  without  warning  ;  it  thundered 
from  shore  to  shore. 

Philip  had  hazarded  a  nervous  expression 
of  the  hope  that,  whatever  grinds  or  hitches 
should  coine  to  the  work,  the  peace  of  the 
relation  might  stand ;  and  since  men  do  not 
usually  mean  each  other  when  they  talk  in 
this  strain,  Dunsmuir  became  fidgety  and 
Philip  more  nervous. 

He  had  never  had  a  home  life  before,  he 
awkwardly  expatiated,  unsupported  by  a  sign 
of  encouragement  from  Dunsmuir,  —  even 
for  as  long  as  he  had  lived  in  the  caiion  ; 
never  known  a  girl,  in  her  home,  as  he  had 
been  privileged  to  know  — 

He  paused,  and  Dunsmuir  growled  :  "  I 
don't  know  where  you  got  the  privilege. 
The  home  is  one  thing,  the  office  is  another." 

Philip,  seated  on  the  table-ledge,  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets  to  hide  that  they 
were  trembling.  "  The  distinction  comes  a 
trifle  late,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  take  note  of  it  now. 
We  have  worked  together  well  enough ;  my 
daughter  is  another  matter." 

"  She  is,  to  me." 

"  What  is  she  to  you  ?  " 


240  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  She  is  the  girl  I  hope,  with  your  leave, 
to  marry." 

"  And  how  long  have  you  had  this  hope  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  Philip,  white  with 
stress  of  feeling.  "  I  have  been  trying,  for 
some  time,  to  speak  to  you." 

"I  don't  know  what  has  prevented  you. 
Are  you  sure  you  have  not  spoken  to  her  ?  " 
Dunsmuir  laid  his  keen'blue  eyes  on  Philip's 
conscious  face. 

"  Ye  have  spoken  !  Deny  it  if  you  can." 
His  big  voice  rang,  like  a  sheet  of  boiler 
iron  under  the  hammer. 

"  Why  should  I  wish  to  deny  it  ?  It  is  the 
American  way,  to  speak  to  her  first;  her 
answer  is  the  only  one  any  man  would  take." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  your  American  ways. 
But  if  you  have  spoken  to  my  motherless 
child  before  that  you  spoke  to  me,  ye  have 
done  me  a  treachery  worthy  your  father's 
son ;  and  you  may  quit  my  house  !  " 

Philip  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  the  table 
recoiled  with  a  loud  jar  ;  for  a  moment  there 
was  no  other  sound  in  the  room.  Then  he 
said,  striving  for  self-control :  "  I  don't  know 
whether  you  consider  yourself  in  a  position 
to  insult  my  father  ;  but  I  am  in  no  position 
to  answer  you  as  your  words  deserve.  As 


DUNSMUIRS  PRICE.  241 

my  father's  son,  or  as  anybody's  son,  my 
record  is  before  you.  By  heaven  !  I  don't 
know  why  fathers  should  be  so  arrogant. 
A  father  is  not  a  god.  If  you  are  the  one 
appointed  to  look  after  Dolly,  it 's  not  my 
fault  if  you  have  neglected  your  business. 
No,  sir  ;  I  will  finish  now.  I  found  her  here, 
where  you  had  fixed  her,  at  the  mercy  of 
your  scheme.  I  was  first,  and  I  took  no  ad 
vantage  that  was  not  simply  a  man's.  If  I 
don't  deserve  her,  do  men  generally  deserve 
the  girls  they  marry  ?  None  the  less  I  mean 
to  make  her  love  me,  if  I  can.  I  am  not 
called  traitor  for  nothing.  I  shall  take  all 
the  chances,  now,  whatever  comes." 

Dunsmuir  listened  coolly  to  this  explicit 
though  somewhat  mixed  defiance,  and  smiled 
to  himself,  "  The  lad  has  spirit,  after  all." 
His  eyebrows  went  up  like  clouds  after  a 
storm ;  a  gleam  of  humor  tugged  at  the 
corners  of  his  grim  mustache.  He  held,  with 
most  short-tempered  men,  that  you  cannot 
make  a  double-dealer  forsake  his  guard ; 
anger  being  like  drink,  that  it  exposes  a  man. 
When,  therefore,  he  had  seen  this  smooth- 
mannered  son  of  the  "  commissioner  "  in  a 
fine,  loose-tongued  rage,  —  with  his  jacket 
off,  so  to  speak,  —  his  own  tall  mood  uncon- 


242  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

sciously  subsided.    Presumably  the  charge  of 
treachery  had  not  come  from  very  deep. 

"  We  have  taken  a  hot  day  for  it,"  he 
remarked,  with  moderation,  while  Philip's 
mental  reflection  was  that  he  would  be  happy 
to  punch  his  much-desired  .father-in-law's 
head. 

Dunsmuir  filled  his  pipe,  thrust  his  hands 
into  the  pockets  of  his  loose  riding  breeches, 
and  strode  out  upon  the  blazing  porch,  where 
the  western  sun,  barred  by  shadows  of  the 
pillars,  lay  half  across  the  floor.  The  seat 
of  his  wooden  chair  was  as  hot  as  a  hearth 
stone  ;  he  kicked  it  away,  and  took  a  canvas 
one,  stretching  his  long  length  on  it,  with  a 
loud,  obtrusive  yawn.  He  was  in  one  of  his 
man-childish  moods,  not  so  lovely  and  plea 
sant  as  he  might  have  been.  It  might  well 
be  doubted  if  at  Philip's  age  he  had  thought 
greatly  of  father's  rights  himself. 

Philip  went  about  his  preparations  for 
leaving,  with  the  haste  Dunsmuir's  hint  de 
manded.  But  he  proposed  to  retreat,  with 
his  baggage,  in  good  order,  not  to  have  his 
things  hurled  after  him.  He  swept  a  place 
on  the  office  table,  which  he  heaped  with 
small  effects  from  drawers  and  pigeon-holes. 
Then  he  shot  out  across  the  hill,  bareheaded, 


DUNSMUIR'S  PRICE.  243 

to  the  tent  where  the  junior  assistants  worked, 
returning  with  an  armful  of  drawing  tools 
and  rolls  of  paper. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  take  these  —  copies  of 
my  drawings  for  the  head-works  ?"  He  in 
dicated,  without  looking  at  his  chief,  a  roll 
of  photographic  blue-prints. 

"  Take  anything  you  want." 

Half  an  hour  later  Dolly  heard  him,  in  the 
attic  chamber,  dragging  trunks  about  furi 
ously  ;  he  was  making  a  lane  for  his  own, 
which  were  stowed  far  back  under  the  eaves ; 
bitterly  recalling,  meanwhile,  how  he  and 
Dolly  had  discussed  their  location  three 
months  before.  They  had  been  civil  to  each 
other  in  those  days,  and  Dolly  had  insisted 
that  he  should  take  the  high  part,  as  he  was 
tall,  and  he  had  refused  because  he  went  less 
often  to  his  trunks  than  she  to  the  family 
chests.  No  talk  could  have  been  smaller, 
but  it  was  a  thing  to  remember  now,  when  all 
the  little  homely  intimacies  were  at  an  end. 
Already  the  spent  days  and  bygone  even 
ings  were  beginning  to  glow  and'  shine  like 
memory  pictures  in  the  retrospect.  Under 
the  eaves,  the  temperature  was  near  to 
that  of  the  stoke-hole  of  a  steamer.  Dolly 
opened  the  door,  letting  in  a  breath  of  fresh- 


244  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ness,  and  a  vision  of  herself,  on  a  bright 
background,  in  a  thin  blue  muslin  frock. 

"  Leave  it  open,  will  you,  please  ?  I  want 
the  light,"  Philip  panted. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  It 's  fright 
ful  in  here  ;  can't  you  wait  till  evening  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  here  this  evening." 

"  Going  to  town  again  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  leave." 

Dolly  appeared  to  be  closely  considering 
a  veil  of  dust-laden  cobweb  that  wavered 
from  the  nearest  beam. 

"  To  leave  the  canon  ?  Dear  me !  Jenny 
must  sweep  this  place,"  she  parenthesized 
coolly. 

Philip  gave  her  no  answer.  Down  came 
a  trunk,  on  top  of  another  trunk,  with  an  of 
fensive  slam. 

"  I  did  n't  understand  you.  Are  you  going 
on  some  other  part  of  the  work?" 

"  I  have  left  the  work." 

"  I  suppose  it 's  none  of  my  business  why  ?  " 

"  It  is  ;  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  I  Ve 
been  fired." 

"  Not  from  the  work  ?  " 

"  Not  precisely  ;  only  from  the  house." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  There  must  be  some 
mistake.  It 's  the  silliest  thing  I  ever  heard," 
cried  Dolly,  indignantly. 


DUNSMUIKS  PRICE.  245 

"  Silly  if  you  like,  but  quite  true.  Your 
father's  language  is  plain." 

Here  Philip  grappled  with  a  trunk,  hurl 
ing  his  weight  upon  the  handle ;  the  bulk 
gave  way,  more  quickly  than  he  had  ex 
pected,  he  lurched  forward,  rose  too  suddenly, 
and  his  bump  of  self-esteem  smote  the  rafter 
overhead  with  a  blinding  crash.  He  dropped 
sidewise  on  the  trunk,  and  clutched  his  head, 
setting  his  teeth  upon  the  brutal  pang.  As 
if  that  were  not  enough,  Dolly,  sickening  at 
the  sound  of  the  blow,  began  to  "  poor  "  him 
and  pity  him  with  all  her  might. 

"  Oh,  how  it  hurts  !  "  she  moaned,  as  if  the 
head  had  been  her  own.  She  dropped  on 
her  knees  before  him,  and  begged  to  see  the 
place.  He  shuddered,  feeling  her  cool  hands 
take  soft  hold  of  his  throbbing  wrists,  and 
the  natural  man  in  him  demanded  that  he 
snatch  her  instantly  and  kiss  away  the  an 
guish  of  his  double  hurt.  Why  not  be  the 
traitor  he  had  been  called  ?  But  the  bar 
barian  was  not  on  deck  this  time  ;  he  sub 
sided,  with  a  groan,  which  Dolly  thought  was 
for  the  aching  head. 

When  Philip  looked  up,  frowning  and 
blushing  with  pain,  and  his  clouded  eyes  met 
hers  brimming  with  purest  mother-pity,  he 


246  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

blessed  God  that  he  had  not  wounded  her 
innocent  trust,  or  blotted  the  memory  —  all 
that  was  left  him  —  of  their  perfect  days 
together  in  the  canon. 

He  gave  thanks  again,  that  afternoon, 
when  Dunsniuir  made  overtures  of  peace  on 
magnanimous  terms,  including  a  withdrawal 
of  all  uncertain  charges. 

About  four  o'clock  the  up-canon  wind, 
forerunner  of  a  dust-storm,  began  to  blow. 
The  women  ran  about,  shutting  doors  and 
windows,  and  Dunsmuir  was  driven  in  from 
the  porch.  Dead  leaves,  chips,  bits  of  paper, 
whatever  was  detachable,  drove  past  the 
house,  whirled  in  the  murky  onset  of  the 
storm. 

Dunsmuir  heard  the  hammock  slapping 
the  piazza-posts ;  the  willow  rockers  slammed 
to  and  fro  ;  one  went  over  with  a  crash,  and 
the  front  door  banged  wide,  filling  the  room 
with  dust.  Every  day  for  six  weeks  Duns 
muir  had  meant  to  fix  that  latch  ;  he  cursed 
it  now,  and  went  outside  to  pick  up  chairs 
and  pile  them  to  leeward,  locking  the  door 
after  him,  on  his  return,  in  the  teeth  of  the 
storm.  Half  his  letters  and  papers  were  on 
the  floor,  and  where  he  stepped  to  pick  them 
up  he  left  prints  of  his  feet  in  the  dust. 


DUNSMUIKS  PRICE.  247 

Philip  came  downstairs,  pale  from  his 
hurt,  with  bloodshot  eyes.  He  was  dressed 
for  the  road,  and  carried  a  canvas  covert- 
coat  on  his  arm.  A  transit  book  he  had 
forgotten  showed  in  the  inside  pocket;  he 
drew  it  out  and  tossed  it  on  the  desk. 

"  I  '11  send  you  those  vouchers  to-morrow," 
he  said  to  Dunsmuir.  Then  he  asked  which 
of  the  men  should  drive  him  to  town. 

"  Sit  down."  Dunsmuir  looked  at  him 
hard.  "You  can't  start  till  this  is  over." 
He  went  out  and  gave  an  order  in  the 
kitchen,  which  was  followed  soon  by  Jenny 
with  beer  and  biscuits. 

Philip  would  take  neither,  and  Dunsmuir 
finished  the  beer  himself,  feeding  the  biscuits 
to  Jenny's  boy,  who  had  tagged  his  mother 
into  the  room,  and  declined  to  be  peacefully 
evicted.  Every  few  mouthfuls  the  child 
paused  in  his  copious  eating,  and  pointed  to 
the  chimney,  saying :  "  Hark  !  Win' !  " 

"  Right  you  are,  mannie.  Wind  that 
would  take  the  hair  off  your  head  if  you 
were  out  in  it.  Now  the  little  beggar 's 
choking !  Save  us  !  where  's  that  woman  ?  " 
Dunsmuir  picked  up  the  child  by  his  gar 
ments,  coughing  and  spluttering,  and  handed 
him  out  of  the  door  like  a  puppy. 


248  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"Have  a  pipe?"  he  suggested  affably, 
when  peace  was  restored,  with  the  sound  of 
the  wind  asserting  itself. 

"  Thanks,  I  don't  care  to  smoke,"  said 
Philip. 

"  What 's  your  quarrel  with  the  work, 
man  ?  I  never  said  you  could  not  do  your 
work." 

"  I  never  said  you  did.  If  you  had,  it 
would  not  have  been  true,"  Philip  answered 
roughly. 

"  Then  why  do  you  quit  it  ?  " 

"  Should  you  care  to  work  under  a  man 
that  had  called  you  a  traitor  and  the  son  of 
a  traitor  ?  " 

"  Tush  !  you  would  have  it.  You  brought 
it  on  yourself.  Ye  knew  I  was  hit  between 
wind  and  water,  and  the  less  said  about  that 
the  better.  But  you  need  not  have  come 
purring  after  my  daughter." 

"  The  time  was  ill  chosen,  I  acknowledge  ; 
but  the  fact  remains,"  said  Philip. 

"  Let  it  remain,  then.  There  's  no  occa 
sion  to  meddle  with  it.  You  did  not  come 
here  to  make  love  to  my  daughter." 

"  I  had  not  done  so  —  not  more  than  I 
could  help  —  when  you  opened  on  me.  But 
you  have  relieved  me  of  my  scruples.  I  in 
tend  to  give  my  mind  to  it  now." 


DUNSMUIR'S  PRICE.  249 

"  You  said  that  before.  Now  suppose  we 
talk  sense.  It 's  ill  changing  horses  when 
you  're  crossing  a  stream.  I  don't  deny  that 
I'd  rather  have  you  than  another  on  this 
job,  now  we  've  started  in.  There  's  little 
time  to  waste,  and  I  might  be  a  month  wiring 
back  and  forth  for  a  man  to  fill  your  place. 
Stay  where  you  are,  and  behave  yourself 
cannily,  and  when  the  right  time  shall  come, 
may  be  we  can  talk  of  it  and  keep  our  hair 
on.  I  would  see,  first,  if  you  are  a  man  of 
your  word  as  well  as  your  work.  What 's 
six  months  to  serve  for  a  lassie  !  When  the 
work  is  done,  when  the  dam  is  in,  why,  then, 
if  I  am  content  with  the  way  you  have  borne 
yourself,  we  '11  speak  of  this  again.  This  is 
no  time  for  marrying  or  giving  in  mar 
riage." 

"  I  am  willing  enough  to  wait,"  said  Philip, 
"  if  the  terms  of  waiting  are  not  made  im 
possible." 

Dunsmuir  smiled.  "  You  may  look  at  her 
in  reason,  so  far  as  is  needful  to  keep  out  of 
her  way.  No,  no,  lad  ;  ye  shall  be  friends. 
Make  each  other's  acquaintance,  but  keep  to 
the  windward  of  promises  and  —  and  such 
toys.  I  have  some  notion  of  a  man  myself. 
I  'm  not  taking  you  on  trust  altogether  — 
and  I  'm  not  so  ruthless,  nor  so  careless  of 


250  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

my  household,  as  you  've  had  the  insolence 
to  insinuate.  Now,  shall  we  take  a  fresh  grip 
of  the  work  ?  It  would  be  a  waste  of  good 
man-material  for  you  and  me  to  quarrel." 

They  looked  each  other  in  the  eyes,  hard 
and  long.  Then  Philip  went  to  the  mantel 
shelf  and  filled  him  a  pipe,  and  they  smoked 
together  in  silence,  while  the  wind  fell,  and 
scattering  gleams  from  the  low  sun  showed 
lines  and  surfaces  of  dust  like  fine  ashes  that 
toned  the  colors  of  the  room. 

"  But  am  I  not  to  have  leave  to  explain  ?  " 
asked  Philip,  frowning  over  the  match  with 
which  he  was  lighting  his  second  pipe.  "  Not 
a  word,  before  the  shutting  down  ?  Con 
sider,  I  have  told  her  "  — 

"  You  have  told  her  enough,  I  have  little 
doubt.  I  "11  do  the  explaining  myself," 

"But  she  will  think  "- 

"  Let  her  think,  and  let  her  fash  herself 
with  thinking.  Philip,  I  mean  this  in  fair 
kindness  to  you  both.  If  the  lassie  cannot 
bear  with  a  touch  of  doubt  beforehand,  do 
you  think  you  '11  be  able  to  satisfy  her  here 
after  ?  Let  her  think,  and  let  her  misdoubt 
and  upbraid  you  in  her  thoughts.  It 's  what 
you  well  deserve,  if  I  know  what  young  men 
are.  A  little  thinking  beforehand  will  do 
you  both  no  harm." 


XVII. 

A   DISINGENUOUS   DEFENSE. 

THE  false  position  on  the  work  began  to 
make  itself  felt.  Dunsmuir  settled  into  a 
cynical  tone,  which  he  held  from  this  forth  : 
that  the  new  plan  was  well  enough  ;  that  the 
dam  would  stand  ;  that  he  had  been  over-con 
servative,  but  was  not  hidebound  or  wedded 
to  a  method.  He  rather  implied  that  Philip 
was.  There  was  a  ghastly  amity  between 
the  chief  and  the  manager,  which  Philip 
blushed  to  behold. 

The  work  went  on,  but  the  light  of  a  fine 
enthusiasm  was  gone.  The  changed  atmos 
phere  pervaded  the  house.  Dolly  guessed 
that  her  father  and  Philip  disagreed  about 
the  work,  and  that  Philip  had  been  sullen  in 
yielding. 

She  had  her  own  hesitations  concerning 
Philip.  Alone  with  her  judgment  of  eigh 
teen,  she  put  this  and  that  together  and 
asked  herself  what  such  things  meant,  and 
Philip  read  the  doubt  in  her  transparent 


254  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Already  she  felt  better  ;  but  Dunsmuir  was 
thinking  severely. 

"  Are  you  keeping  something  from  me, 
Dolly?" 

"  No ;  I  have  nothing  to  keep,"  said  Dolly, 
forlornly.  "I  wish  —  Margaret" —  She 
could  not  bear  the  piteousness  in  her  own 
voice,  and  a  fresh  burst  followed  the  effort 
to  speak. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  quite  understand,"  said 
Dunsmuir,  soothingly.  "  We  are  all  out  of 
kilter  since  Margaret  went.  She  has  spoiled 
us,  every  one.  But  I  have  been  proud  to 
see  how  you  buckle  to  the  housekeeping. 
Why,  Margaret  herself  would  never  believe 
it.  But  may  be  you  're  not  mindful  enough 
of  your  own  strength  ?  " 

Dolly  shook  her  head,  and  nestled  closer 
in  response  to  these  paternal  blandishments. 

"Forgive  my  sulking,"  she  apologized. 
"  All  I  asked  was,  Do  you  not  like  Mr. 
Norrisson  better  since  you  've  known  him 
better?" 

"  I  have  always  liked  Philip  Norrisson,  in 
a  way." 

"  I  mean  the  father.  Is  he  the  same  man, 
or  is  he  changed  —  or  are  we  changed  ?  " 

Dunsmuir  put  the  girl  gently  off  his  knee, 


A  DISINGENUOUS  DEFENSE.          255 

and  wheeled  about  in  his  screw-chair  facing 
his  desk.  "  Come,  come !  "  he  said.  "  Get 
these  shelves  in  order  before  you  forget 
where  the  boxes  belong." 

"  Can  you  not  spare  me  a  few  minutes  ? 
We  scarcely  ever  talk  by  ourselves  any 
more.  I  hear  a  word  here  and  a  word  there, 
and  every  word  is  a  fling  at  the  name  of 
Norrisson."  She  stood  up  and  braved  the 
blush  that  mounted  to  her  face  as  she  spoke. 
"  Once  it  was  Margaret,  now  it  is  Jenny, 
and  even  Adeline  must  have  her  say,  and 
they  are  people  only  lately  in  the  country. 
What  is  it  that 's  so  well  known,  and  why 
do  we  have  to  condone  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  not  above  picking  up  tales  in 
the  kitchen,"  Dunsmuir  interrupted. 

"  Do  you  call  Margaret  '  the  kitchen  '  ?  " 

"  Margaret  cannot  speak  a  word  without 
prejudice,  nor  ever  could  since  I  have  known 
her." 

"  Has  it  been  prejudice  with  you,  then, 
father  ?  Since  I  can  remember,  —  until  very 
lately,  —  you  have  made  no  secret  of  your 
disdain  of  Mr.  Price  Norrisson  and  all  his 
works.  It  is  a  prejudice  your  women  were 
brought  up  in.  Has  there  been  some  mis 
take?" 


256  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  The  mistake  is  that  you  should  perplex 
yourself  with  the  matter  at  all.  You  cannot 
know  the  whole  ;  and  without  the  whole  you 
cannot  understand  a  part.  It  is  a  history 
impossible  for  one  side  to  tell  with  fairness 
to  the  other." 

"  There  are  still  two  sides,  then  ?  I  had 
supposed  from  present  appearances  that  you 
were  both  on  the  one  side." 

"  Come,  get  alang  wi'  ye  !  Ye  deave  me 
wi'  your  clatter,"  Dunsmuir  evaded.  But 
his  playfulness  sat  grievously  on  him,  and  it 
jarred  upon  his  child. 

"  You  may  joke  and  put  me  off,  but  it 's  a 
thing  that  cries  for  explanation." 

"  I  am  not  a  man  who  explains.  Go  ask 
Philip  Norrisson  to  expound  his  father  to 
you.  I  should  be  blithe  of  the  young  man's 
interpretation." 

"  I  ask  you  simply,  What  has  he  done  ? 
What  have  you  —  or  had  you  —  actually 
against  him  ?  And  why  do  poor  people 
speak  of  him  in  the  same  breath  with  their 
injuries,  as  if  he  were  a  public  swindler?" 

"  Is  that  how  the  talk  goes  ?  Why,  bless 
me,  I  supposed  he  was  the  man  on  horse 
back,  the  biggest  frog  in  the  puddle.  So 
the  people  have  memories,  after  all?  It 


A  DISINGENUOUS  DEFENSE.          257 

must  be  the  soreheads,  then ;  the  ones  who 
got  left.  The  peculiar  disgrace  in  this  coun 
try  is  to  '  get  left,'  you  '11  observe ;  to  grum 
ble  is  next  to  it ;  the  two  go  together,  like 
cowardice  and  lying." 

"  Are  we  soreheads,  then  ?  Is  that  why 
we  have  grumbled  ?  " 

"  You  have  a  shrewd  Scots  tongue,  young 
woman,"  said  Dunsmuir,  with  a  bitter 
chuckle.  "  It  is  well  seen  we  have  had 
catechists  in  the  family." 

"  This  may  amuse  you,"  Dolly  answered, 
and  her  lip  trembled.  "  It  reminds  me  that 
once  you  would  not  have  put  me  off  so,  when 
I  had  far  less  reason  for  asking  to  be  satis 
fied." 

Dunsmuir  considered  her  flushed,  excited 
face,  and  answered  soberly :  "  Dolly,  the 
trouble  between  Price  Norrisson  and  your 
father  was  never  a  personal  quarrel,  under 
stand  ;  it  was  a  difference  in  our  methods  of 
working.  He  is  a  promoter,  one  who  ped 
dles  schemes  in  the  money  markets  ;  he 
neither  builds  out  of  his  head  nor  pays 
out  of  his  pocket ;  he  is  the  man  who  talks. 
And  I  am  the  man  who  builds,  wisely  or 
fondly,  as  the  case  may  be.  •  It  is  well  known 
we  engineers  have  a  great  conceit  of  our 


258  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

own  ideas.  But  my  plan  was  no  more  to 
Norrisson  than  any  other  man's ;  its  merit  to 
him  was  its  price.  He  was  jealous  of  the 
time  spent  pothering  with  a  slow  project, 
while  he  might  have  been  reaping  commis 
sions  from  several.  So  he  patched  up  a 
scheme  of  his  own,  which  he  privately  sub 
stituted.  To  do  him  justice,  he  offered  me 
half;  but  I  could  not  look  at  it,  from  the 
nature  of  it,  which  was  rotten,  and  he  was 
tired  of  what  he  called  my  overniceness  ; 
and  that  was  the  break  between  us.  I  dare 
say  I  may  have  been  invidious ;  I  was  angry. 
And  he  might  have  been  more  open  with  me. 
He  might  have  waited  to  be  off  with  one  deal 
before  he  was  on  with  another.  He  might 
afterward  have  been  either  for  me  or  against 
me,  and  not  have  kept  a  vengeful  interest 
in  my  scheme,  which  he  used  to  strangle 
it  with,  whenever  it  showed  signs  of  life. 
Still,  that  is  '  business,'  according  to  the 
business  man's  code.  If  I  could  have  had  a 
partner,  as  sagacious  and  plucky  as  Norris 
son,  with  a  better  sense  of  faith  and  a  larger 
grasp  of  the  scheme,  we  had  not  waited  so 
long,  perhaps.  Yet  it  has  not  been  long. 
Land-builders  must  be  content  to  work  as 
nature  works.  But  he  had  never  a  concep- 


A  DISINGENUOUS  DEFENSE.         259 

tion  of  the  thing  in  hand ;  he  does  not  love 
the  making  of  a  country :  he  wants  the  price 
of  his  dicker,  and  so  away  to  the  next  one. 
The  present  combination,  if  you  insist  on 
knowing,  was  forced  upon  me.  It 's  a  union 
like  that  between  the  Scots  and  the  English 
—  neither  was  happy  in  it,  nor  very  proud  of 
it;  yet  both  lived,  as  we  shall,  to  reap  its 
benefits  and  to  forget  its  humiliations." 

"  It  is  an  ill-omened  comparison.  Our 
ditch-union,  I  hope,  is  not  a  sale,"  said 
Dolly,  deeply  moved.  "And  does  the  sun 
shine,  now,  on  you  both?  Do  you  remem 
ber  how  you  said  you  would  never  forgive 
him  till  he  stood  out  of  your  sunlight  ?  " 

"  A  poor,  silly  speech.  You  would  credit 
me  more  by  forgetting  it.  Men  make  such 
speeches  to  their  women,  who  are  indulgent 
to  a  phrase.  The  sun  is  for  him  that  can 
make  hay  while  it  shines.  That  is  what 
Norrissou  did,  in  fine,  when  he  built  his 
ditch." 

"  Are  you  the  apologist  now,  father,  or 
the  historian  ?  " 

"  Are  you  ever  going  to  get  over  that  ill- 
bred  habit  of  retort?  It  is  intolerable  in  a 
woman.  You  and  Alan  have  argle-bargled 
till  you  know  no  other  way  of  speaking.  I 


260  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

have  answered  your  first  question.  Now 
what  else  have  you  heard,  between  kitchen 
and  parlor?  What  are  the  people's  inju 
ries?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  whole  story  of 
Norrisson's  ditch." 

"  Would  you,  indeed  ?  and  do  you  think 
your  father  is  the  man  to  tell  it?  Would 
you  take  for  gospel  Norrisson's  story  of  my 
ditch?" 

"  I  will  make  allowance ;  but  I  would 
have  it  from  you.  I  ask  you  not  to  spare 
whatever  to  you  is  the  truth." 

"  Poor  Norrisson  !  If  he  only  knew  that 
the  girls  are  after  his  record.  I  don't  quite 
perceive  the  grounds  of  my  daughter's  inter 
est." 

"  I  should  think  you  might.  He  has 
stood  for  the  enemy  of  my  house  these  years 
and  years  ;  now  he  stands  for  the  friend.  I 
am  all  turned  about,  and  I  'm  tired  of  being 
put  off  with  '  phrases.'  " 

Dunsmuir  laughed  at  her  sharpness,  but 
still  with  that  bitter  levity  which  took  away 
her  confidence  in  his  answers.  Dolly  saw  he 
was  talking  speciously,  but  could  imagine 
no  reason  for  his  want  of  frankness. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  began,  "  Norrisson  built 


A   DISINGENUOUS   DEFENSE.          261 

a  ditch  seventy  miles  long  in  something  less 
than  a  hundred  days.  He  boomed  up  the 
lands,  and  the  settlers  rushed  in ;  and,  as 
most  of  them  were  short  of  cash,  Norrisson's 
company  forms  another  company  —  two 
names  but  one  pocket.  The  loan  and  mort 
gage  company  advanced  money  to  the  settlers 
on  their  lands,  and  the  water  company  sold 
them  water.  But  the  ditch  was  got  together 
in  such  a  hurry-scurry  that  it  took  a  year  or 
two  to  settle  down  to  regular  work ;  the 
water  was  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
but  where  it  was  wanted.  The  first  crops 
went  under,  and  the  first  crop  of  settlers 
went  along  with  them.  There  was  a  terrible 
tumble  in  real  estate  ;  claims  were  jumped ; 
there  were  foreclosures,  contests,  and  scan 
dals,  and  the  deuce  to  pay  generally.  And 
when  the  pie  was  smashed,  Norrisson  and 
his  crowd  gathered  and  picked  out  the 
plums.  After  that  it  was  well  seen  they 
could  afford  to  patch  up  the  leaks  in  their 
ditches.  There  was  never  a  wilder  water- 
system  on  the  face  of  this  earth,  yet  some 
how  they  have  scrambled  through.  I  un 
derstand  the  farmers  are  making  money 
now.  I  supposed  the  past  was  forgotten, 
except  they  used  it  as  an  election  cry. 


262  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

What  I  have  chiefly  against  Norrisson  is  not 
personal  to  the  man.  We  are  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  made ;  all  honesty  is  compara 
tive,  and  the  best  of  us  cannot  boast.  It  is 
the  man's  methods  of  business  I  object  to. 
He  has  antagonized  the  farmers  at  the  out 
set  ;  he  cinched  them,  there  's  not  a  doubt ; 
and  we  are  now  to  reap  the  fruits  of  the 
stone-age  policy.  It  means  a  fight,  and  a 
great  waste  of  the  energies  and  the  money 
of  a  new  community.  And  when  our  big 
ditch  is  lined  with  ranches,  and  the  farmers 
poll  more  votes  than  the  company,  they  '11 
have  to  be  bought,  or  they  '11  swing  the 
elections  and  use  their  power  as  he  has  used 
his.  It  is  all  very  corrupting,  and  a  weari 
ness  to  think  on,  when  there  's  a  policy  so 
much  broader,  which  has  been  proved  by 
the  sad,  wasteful  experience  of  centuries. 
But  it  is  written  that  young  nations  and 
young  lives  shall  never  profit  by  the  mis 
takes  of  the  old ;  every  life  and  every  coun 
try  must  learn  its  own  lessons.  But  for  an 
Old  World  looker-on,  who  has  seen  it  all 
thrashed  out  before,  it  is  a  dowie  business." 

"  Then  you  think  Mr.  Norrisson  means  to 
be  honest,  by  his  way  of  thinking  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  means  to  be  a  rich  man." 


A  DISINGENUOUS  DEFENSE.          263 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Norrisson  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  has  never  shown  up  in  this  part 
of  the  country.  I  hear  she  is  disaffected 
toward  her  husband  and  her  native  land, 
but  she  accepts  her  living  from  both  ;  a  lady 
with  a  small  fist  that  can  hold  a  heap  of 
money.  And  there,  you  see,  is  where  it  be 
fits  to  be  charitable  to  the  husband  who  has 
that  hand  to  fill.  Small  blame  to  him  if  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  've  heard  enough ! "  the  girl  broke 
in  with  a  passionate  gesture.  "  And  where 
do  you  suppose  the  son  comes  from  ?  His 
honesty  is  comparative  too,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  canny  chiel,"  Dunsmuir  an 
swered  coldly. 

He  watched  Philip  jealously  in  these  days 
of  his  probation ;  took  note  of  his  prudent 
silence,  on  a  situation  both  had  agreed  was 
impossible  —  to  any  but  a  venal  chief,  at 
tainable  through  the  loaves  and  fishes.  As 
suredly  the  young  man  had  powers  of  self- 
control.  Dunsmuir  watched  him  come  and 
go,  faithful  to  the  work,  yet  uncommitted ; 
eyed  him  as  Saul  eyed  David,  and  loved 
him  not,  yet  could  find  in  him  no  cause  of 
offense. 


XVIII. 

A   BROKEN   TOOL. 

"GlJDE  be  thankit!"  cried  Margaret, 
opening  the  door  to  Dunsmuir.  "Come 
awa'  in  out  o'  the  stour." 

Again  the  dust-wind  was  raging  up  the 
valley,  that  last  day  of  a  pitiless  September, 
long  remembered,  even  in  a  patient  land,  for 
its  brazen  days,  and  stifling  nights,  and  cease 
less  storming  winds  that  brought  no  rain, 
but  "  stour." 

Squaw  Butte  and  the  War  Eagle  had  not 
been  seen  for  weeks,  so  close  fell  the  curtain 
of  smoke  from  burning  forests.  Hundreds 
of  acres,  to  the  north  and  east,  were  on  fire, 
turning  the  sun's  light  to  a  ground-glass 
glare,  and  troubling  the  heated  atmosphere. 
The  evening  before,  a  false  wind  blew  up 
from  the  plains  ;  the  clouds  sulked  all  night, 
and  promised  rain  ;  next  day  a  lurid  sun 
peered  forth  and  vanished.  The  desert  wind 
arose,  and  the  dust-cloud  marched  before  it, 
and,  as  it  drew  near,  fields  and  fences  were 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  265 

blotted  out  of  the  landscape,  houses  loomed 
like  stranded  hulks,  and  trees  like  staggering 
masts,  and  which  was  earth  and  which  sky  no 
eye  could  distinguish  in  the  yellow  darkness. 

Dunsmuir  had  had  what  Margaret  would 
have  called  a  warning,  that  his  errand  to  the 
homestead  must  not  wait.  He  traveled  ahead 
of  the  storm,  which  broke  upon  the  ranch  at 
about  three  of  the  afternoon.  He  could 
scarcely  see  the  house,  from  the  stacks  where 
he  tied  his  horse.  There  was  neither  barn 
nor  stable,  no  shelter  for  the  few  poor  cattle, 
no  roof  to  the  well,  no  porch  to  the  bare, 
little  two-roomed  cabin.  Yet  it  was  a  home, 
and  a  great  sorrow  had  come  to  it.  Duns 
muir  had  no  need  to  ask  its  nature.  That 
helpless  man-shape  sunk  in  a  chair,  propped 
back,  with  a  comforter  tucked  around  it,  was 
Job.  His  feet  were  in  a  tub  of  hot  water, 
which  steamed  up  into  his  white,  drawn  face, 
and  eyes  of  speechless  appeal,  turned  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  two  who  looked  at 
him  as  if  he  were  already  not  of  this  world. 

"When  did  this  happen,  poor  woman?" 
said  Dunsmuir,  giving  his  sympathy,  as  we 
do,  to  the  mourner  before  the  sufferer. 

"  'Deed,  I  think  it 's  an  hour  sin'  he  was 
taken  ;  but  I  cannae  rightly  say,  I  have  been 


266  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

sae  crazed  wi'  the  storm  an'  the  heat  an'  the 
sair  wark  o'  handlin'  him  —  ma  puir  man- 
nie  ! " 

The  heat  was  something  fearful.  The 
house  had  been  shut  tight  against  the  laden 
gusts,  which  shook  the  feeble  door,  and  beat 
upon  the  windows,  and  cast  the  dust  of  the 
valley  road  upon  the  roof,  like  ashes  on  the 
head  of  a  mourner.  Margaret  had  crammed 
the  stove  with  dry  sage-stumps  in  her  haste 
to  prepare  the  footbath ;  she  had  put  mus 
tard  into  the  water,  and  the  odor  of  it  was 
sickening  in  the  close-shut,  reeking  room. 
Her  face  was  purple,  shining  with  tears  and 
perspiration,  and  twisted  with  grief.  She 
knelt  and  lifted  the  pulseless  feet  into  her 
lap,  and  dried  them,  and  cried  a  little  as  she 
showed  the  towel  —  one  of  the  fine  ones  "  the 
child  "  had  given  her,  with  her  mother's  own 
maiden  name  wrought  upon  it.  Dunsmuir 
helped  her  get  the  helpless  bulk  into  a  bed, 
in  the  other  room,  which  Margaret  had  hast 
ily  spread  with  clean  sheets ;  and  again  she 
could  not  pass  over  without  calling  attention 
to  the  comforts  Dolly's  mindfulness  had  sup 
plied,  so  grateful  now  to  her  fond,  simple 
heart.  It  pleased  her  that  Job  should  lie 
upon  the  finest  and  softest  of  linen  and 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  267 

feathers,  provided  by  her  whom  they  loved 
as  their  own  child. 

"He  '11  come  out  of  it,  Margaret,"  said 
Dunsmuir.  "  I  think  he  knows  me."  And 
he  went  up  close  to  Job,  and  spoke  to  him  as 
to  a  child,  asking  him  the  question.  They 
knew  not  how  much  of  Job  was  there  to 
hear,  even  without  the  power  to  answer.  It 
were  better  he  should  remain  without  the 
doors  of  consciousness,  than  reenter,  to  be 
hold  the  ruin  that  he  was.  Job  made  a 
feeble  motion  of  his  left  hand  toward  the 
right,  which  lay  as  it  had  fallen  when  they 
placed  him  on  his  back  in  the  bed.  Duns 
muir  lifted  that  awful  dead  member  and  laid 
it  across  his  chest.  A  look  of  greater  ease 
crept  into  the  strange,  familiar  face  on  the 
pillow.  "  You  know  me,  Job  ?  "  Dunsmuir 
persisted,  in  the  forlorn  attempt  to  comfort 
Margaret.  "  He  knows  me,  see  !  "  Job  had 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  Dunsmuir's  face  with  a 
stare  that  had  something  like  intelligence  in 
it.  His  mouth  worked,  but  he  could  not  ar 
ticulate.  Still,  it  was  plain  that  the  stroke 
was  not  to  be  the  final  one.  In  the  outer 
room,  while  the  drear  wind  tormented  the 
valley  and  blotted  it  from  their  sight,  Duns 
muir  made  known  his  business. 


268  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  the  last  of  the  money 
that  's  so  long  overdue  ;  and  it  comes  none 
too  soon,  my  poor  woman.  I  suppose  you 
would  not  have  asked  me  for  a  penny,  how 
ever  ye  were  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  an'  I  would,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  That  's  no  the  way  o'  my  pride.  But  ye 
need  na  cum'er  yoursel'  wi'  us.  We  have 
made  out  vera  weel,  as  ye  can  see.  We  have 
wantit  for  naething  in  reason.  And  I  'm 
just  thankfu'  that  we  cam  awa'  here  to  our- 
sel',  as  he  was  aye  fleechin'  an'  beggin'  me  to 
do.  He  'd  a  hankerin'  to  set  the  place  in 
order,  or  ere  he  left  me  to  fend  for  mysel'. 
I  'm  thinkin'  he  '11  have  had  his  warnin'." 

"  You  put  shame  upon  us  all,  Margaret, 
when  you  talk  of  fending  for  yourself.  Who 
was  it  stood  by  me,  in  the  mother's  place  to 
my  children,  with  all  the  mother's  cares,  and 
none  of  her  honors  or  blood  rights  ?  I  shall 
never  try  to  tell  you  how  it  fared  with  me  to 
see  you  go  out  of  my  house  without  even 
your  money  wages  in  your  pocket.  You  '11 
give  us  the  right  now  to  show  you  're  some 
thing  more  to  us  than  a  chance  comer  and 
goer.  Come,  I  must  have  your  promise  that 
you  '11  let  me  know,  from  this  forth,  whatever 
you  're  in  want  of.  So  far  as  I  'm  able,  I  '11 
see  that  you  get  it." 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  269 

By  four  o'clock  the  wind  had  moderated 
so  that  Dunsmuir  was  able  to  set  out  home 
.again  and  to  send  a  messenger  for  the  doctor. 
He  had  proposed  to  come  back  himself  and 
spend  the  night ;  but  Margaret  seemed  so  dis 
tressed  at  his  taking  such  unwonted  trouble, 
that  he  wisely  substituted  the  offer  of  Dolly's 
company,  with  a  trusty  man  to  stay  by  the 
ranch.  It  was  easy  to  surprise  Margaret's 
wishes  now ;  she  was  off  all  her  guards  at 
once,  and  softened  to  the  simple  truthfulness 
of  grief.  She  accepted  what  she  wanted,  and 
was  fearless  in  refusing. 

A  fair,  rosy  evening  followed  the  storm. 
There  had  been  rain  higher  up,  on  the  moun 
tains,  and  the  freshness  had  descended  with 
out  the  moisture  ;  gusts  of  coolness  scattered 
the  dry  roses  and  rustled  the  withering  vines. 
Philip  very  definitely  proposed  to  be  the  man 
who  should  accompany  Dolly,  and  watch  with 
her  at  the  ranch.  And  Dunsmuir,  who  de 
pended  on  him,  though  he  might  not  own  it, 
was  thankful  for  his  offer.  Philip  hurried 
to  change  his  dress  after  dinner.  He  heard 
Dolly  at  the  trunks  in  the  attic,  and  went  to 
the  door,  as  once  she  had  come,  to  see  what 
was  doing  in  there.  She  was  searching  for 
an  old  dressing-gown  of  her  father's,  also  for 


270  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

certain   pairs   of   fine   woolen   socks  which 
Margaret  had  knitted  for  him  one  Christ 
mas,  when  he  had  complained  of  cold  feet, 
and  he  had  unwittingly  hurt  her  feelings  by 
never  wearing.     She  thought  with  awe   of 
Job's  condition,  that  he  should  need  to  be 
warmed  in  such  weather.     She  was  as  red 
as  a  poppy  with  the  heat  and  perhaps  from 
other  causes.     She  was  in  her  dressing-sack ; 
but  to  Philip's  untutored  eye  there  was  no 
suggestion  of  dishabille  in  the  pretty  white 
jacket  sprigged  with  roses,  which  showed  a 
pair  of  arms  he  loved  to  look  at,  whether 
bare  or  sleeved.     He  longed  to  do  all  man 
ner  of  wild  homages  to  Dolly  —  to  her  arms 
and  hands  and  feet  and  little  fair  head  of 
tumbled  hair.     She  was  in  a  great  fuss  and 
hurry,  trying  one  trunk  after  another ;  she 
grew    troubled    in    her    search,    partly    at 
Philip's  help,  which  confused  her  and  made 
it  impossible  to  think  or  to  remember. 

In  the  third  trunk  they  tried,  the  upper 
tray  was  filled  with  a  large,  soft,  fragrant 
bundle  that  rustled  richly  and  smelled  of 
lavender  and  attar  of  roses. 

"  What  can  this  be,  laid  away  so  pre 
ciously  ? "  Philip  smiled,  with  man  -  like 
curiosity,  quickened  by  his  flattered  senses. 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  271 

"  This  must  be  the  offering  of  the  wise- 
hearted,  in '  blue  and  purple  and  scarlet  and 
fine  linen.'  Might  one  take  a  peep  ?  This 
is  surely  the  odor  of  sanctity." 

Dolly  shrinkingly  owned  that  it  might  be 
—  it  was  her  mother's  wedding-dress;  and 
Philip  abased  himself  in  silence.  She  per 
mitted  him  to  lift  out  the  long  tray,  and,  as 
he  did  so,  one  end  caught,  and  came  up  with 
a  jerk  that  sent  a  small  parcel  to  the  floor. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  "  I  must  show  you  these 
—  Alan's  and  my  christening  things.  You  'd 
never  believe  what  pretty  clothes  I  once 
wore,  before  I  was  a  beggar  maid.  But  per 
haps  this  is  too  childish  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know  you  any  more,"  -  —  Philip 
pretended  offense,  —  "  you  have  so  many 
doubts  and  primmy  notions.  Once  you  were 
not  afraid  to  be  childish." 

They  bent  together  over  the  small,  soft 
bundle,  as  Dolly  unpinned  it  on  her  lap,  and 
displayed  the  ridiculous  proportions  of  the 
tiny  garments,  doting  with  a  seamstress's 
enthusiasm  on  their  exquisite  finish.  She 
explained  the  mysteries  of  lace  tuckers  that 
folded  down,  and  sleeves  that  looped  up,  and 
held  one  frock  beneath  her  chin  to  show  its 
sumptuous  length  from  bib  to  hem  of  love- 


272  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

liest  needlework,  and  every  stitch  set  by 
hand.  A  subtle  rich  perfume,  long  laid  away 
in  the  yellowing  folds,  stole  forth  upon  the 
garret's  tropic  warmth.  It  spoke  to  them  of 
memories  merged  in  dreams,  of  a  future  trem 
ulously  foreshadowed.  Philip,  half  intoxi 
cated  by  the  intimacy  of  these  researches, 
was  the  only  conscious  one ;  Dolly  was 
simply  girlishly  flattered  by  his  impassioned 
interest  in  her  sartorial  past.  These  pom 
pous  little  robes  had  been  the  delight  of  her 
earliest  visits  to  the  attic ;  but  the  wedding- 
gown  had  ever  been  hedged  about  with  care 
ful  ceremonies  and  precautions.  No  hands 
but  Margaret's  had  ever  ventured  to  unfold 
those  lengths  of  shimmering  satin  and  creamy 
drifts  of  lace,  nor  could  Dolly  realize  that 
she  was  now  sole  keeper  of  the  garments 
in  which  the  sacred  mother-past  lay  folded 
away.  Something  of  this  she  tried  to  say  ; 
for  Philip  was  one  who  seemed  to  under 
stand  everything. 

"  I  have  almost  a  guilty  feeling,  do  you 
know,  when  I  come  here  and  rummage  by 
myself.  All  the  history  of  our  poor  house 
lies  packed  away  in  these  trunks,  ever  since 
it  stopped  in  the  canon,  and  nothing  more 
happened.  All  my  mother's  happy  girl-days 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  273 

were  put  away  here,  with  her  evening  gowns, 
and  her  pretty  shoes,  and  fans,  and  ribbons ; 
and  here  "  —  Dolly  laid  her  hand  softly  on 
the  wedding  gown  —  "  she  was  a  bride  ;  and 
here,  a  mother;  and  then  it  was  all  over, 
and  Margaret  locked  her  trunks  and  has 
kept  the  keys  ever  since.  And  we  children 
never  really  knew  her.  We  have  no  right 
here,  do  you  think  ?  " 

She  was  sitting  on  the  closed  trunk-lid, 
the  keys  hanging  from  her  warm  hand, 
blanched  with  the  heat  and  tremulous  from 
exertion.  Transported  by  that  unconscious 
"we,"  Philip  bent  and  kissed  the  hand  — 
only  the  little  finger  of  it  that  lay  apart.  It 
was  his  one  transgression.  Dolly  turned 
her  face  away ;  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 
Her  look  of  dumb  seeking  for  something  be 
yond  him,  which  he  could  not  give  her,  put 
Philip  far  from  her,  and  he  was  moved  to 
say  humbly :  — 

"  Would  you  rather  some  one  else  went 
with  you  to  the  ranch  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  think  so  ?  and  who 
else  is  there  to  go  ?  " 

Philip  smiled ;  it  was  hard  to  wait.  He 
looked  at  her  troubled  face,  all  flushed  and 
weary  with  a  childish  abandonment,  and 


274  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

thought  of  all  the  Rests,  as  many  as  the 
Joys  of  Mary,  with  which  they  could  rest 
each  other.  She  needed  the  rest  of  change ; 
and  quickly  he  was  rapt  away  in  his  beset 
ting  dream,  of  two  young  student  lovers, 
-  he  with  the  better  grasp,  she  with  the 
subtler  feeling,  —  nesting  in  the  old  cities 
of  art  and  learning,  always  referring  their 
work  to  the  special  requirements  of  the  life 
awaiting  them  at  home.  He  felt  himself  not 
content  to  be  merely  a  builder  of  ditches; 
he  looked  forward  to  being  an  administrator 
of  waters,  in  the  new  communities  water 
should  create,  and  here  came  in  the  human 
element  which  immensely  enlarged  the  scope 
of  his  work  and  of  her  helpfulness. 

That  night  at  the  ranch  Dolly  watched 
him  fetch  and  carry,  for  Margaret,  the  wood 
and  the  water,  and  gravely  consult  with  her 
about  the  chores.  She  heard  him  speaking 
words  which  seemed  inspired  of  the  most 
delicate  discernment.  She  saw  him  with 
Job's  head  against  his  shoulder  (in  the  name 
of  all  pity,  what  a  contrast !)  while  Mar 
garet  fed  medicines  into  the  relaxed  mouth 
that  could  neither  protest  nor  thank  her  any 
more.  She  jealously  watched  for  a  sign  of 
repugnance,  or  condescension,  or  relief  when 


A  BROKEN   TOOL.  275 

the  ordeal  was  over,  and  saw  him  always 
simple,  sensitive,  and  brotherly,  through 
all  the  discomfort,  and  sorrow,  and  squalor 
of  the  night.  She  saw,  above  all,  that  Mar 
garet  accepted  him  with  the  sure  instinct  of 
grief,  taking  his  presence  and  his  most  inti 
mate  services  as  much  a  matter  of  course 
as  her  own.  Dolly  was  comforted  in  her  in 
stinctive  faith.  Her  proofs  were  sufficient 
to  herself.  He  might  have  come  of  shabby 
ancestry,  he  might  have  cared  and  ceased  to 
care ;  none  the  less  he  was  a  friend,  a  gen 
tleman,  a  comrade  she  could  give  her  hand 
to,  in  joy  or  sorrow,  and  her  people  were  his 
people  and  her  poor  were  his  poor. 

Philip  went  away  next  morning  after 
breakfast,  saying  he  would  return  or  send 
some  one  in  his  place  to  spend  the  night. 
Breakfast  had  been  early ;  at  ten  the  doctor 
made  his  visit ;  the  remainder  of  the  day 
seemed  endless.  After  the  supper  things 
had  been  set  away  Margaret  lay  down  be 
side  the  sick  man  and  fell  asleep.  Whether 
Job  slept  or  not  Dolly  could  not  be  sure ;  he 
lay  quiet  with  closed  eyes.  She  went  out 
and  walked  about  the  dusty  premises,  the 
roosting  fowls  inquiring  concerning  her 
presence  with  querulous  squalls  and  side- 


276  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

long  duckings.  She  walked  from  the  door 
to  the  fence  and  back  till  she  knew  every 
weed  by  the  path.  At  the  gate  she  would 
stop  and  look  up  the  canon  road ;  then  she 
restricted  her  looking  to  every  other  time. 
Now  and  again  she  opened  the  cabin  door 
and  listened,  and  heard  only  the  clock  tick 
ing  and  the  kettle  rising  to  a  boil.  She 
had  wearied  herself  with  walking,  and  was 
going  in,  when  she  saw  Philip  dismounting 
at  the  gate  ;  he  had  come  across  through 
the  sage-brush.  He  walked  beside  his  horse 
up  the  dusty  path,  and  she  went  out  gladly 
to  meet  him. 

With  an  odd,  embarrassed  smile,  in  si 
lence  he  handed  her  a  letter.  It  was  ad 
dressed  to  her  father,  and  it  had  been 
opened. 

"  Did  you  know  it  was  from  Alan  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Philip ;  "your  father  read 
me  parts  of  it."  Dolly  thought  his  manner 
very  peculiar. 

"  If  the  news  is  bad,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  first." 

"  There  is  news ;  but  I  don't  know  if  you 
wiU  call  it  bad." 

"Does  father?" 

"  Well,  yes  —  rather.     Will  you  not  read 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  277 

the  letter?  There  is  nothing  shocking  in 
it." 

"  There  are  pages  and  pages !  « New  York, 
September  25.'  Has  n't  he  sailed  yet  ?  " 

"  Won't  you  read  the  letter,  Dolly?  " 

"What  is  all  this  about  Estelle?  Who 
is  Estelle,  for  pity's  sake?"  Dolly  had 
gone  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 

"  Estelle  Summercamp.  Don't  you  re 
member —  the  people  who  were  here  last 
summer,  whom  Alan  met  on  the  train  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  girl !  Has  he  been  with  them 
all  this  time  in  New  York  ?  and  is  that  why 
he  has  not  written  ?  " 

"  It  's  hardly  fair  to  Alan  not  to  read 
what  he  has  to  say  for  himself.  I  'm  sure 
you  '11  find  it  interesting." 

Philip  walked  away,  leading  his  horse. 
Dolly,  angry  and  alarmed  and  sick  with  a 
new,  ridiculous  foreboding,  read  on,  page 
after  page  of  excited  boyish  narrative :  I 
came,  I  saw,  I  conquered !  Dolly  was  cold 
to  his  jubilance,  for  now  she  knew  what  was 
coming. 

"  She  swears  she  is  five-and-twenty." 
[This  sentence  caught  her  eye,  as  she  hur 
ried  along.]  "  I  don't  believe  it ;  she  does  n't 


278  THE   CHOSEN   VALLEY. 

look  as  old  as  I  do,  but  she  knows  a  precious 
lot  more  about  everything  except  riding. 
We  ride  every  day  in  the  Park ;  it 's  awfully 
dear,  but  they  don't  seem  to  think  of  the 
cost  of  anything,  and  she  says  she  likes  me 
on  horseback.  .  .  .  Amongst  them  they  've 
got  about  twelve  hundred  acres  of  land.  .  .  . 
I  shall  take  up  my  land  next  theirs ;  Mr. 
Summercamp  says  they  will  have  a  railway 
station  and  a  town  directly  on  the  lands. 
...  It 's  gone  out  that  I  'm  a  younger  son 
—  British  aristocrat  —  making  money  hand 
over  fist  in  Texas  cattle.  They  don't  mind, 
but  I  think  I  see  my  father  smile." 

Dolly  put  down  the  letter  with  a  flushed 
and  burning  face.  She  was  too  angry  to 
cry.  So  Alan  was  to  marry  the  girl  with 
the  laugh  ;  they  would  go  giggling  through 
life  together.  And  all  this  had  been  trans- 

O 

acting  while,  in  the  canon,  days  were  counted 
till  the  coming  of  his  letters,  and  her  father 
walked  the  floor  at  night,  as  she  had  heard 
him,  hoping  and  planning  and  wrestling  for 
his  son.  She  pushed  the  cabin  door  ajar, 
for  she  longed  to  talk  it  over  with  Margaret, 
who  had  the  sure  touch  in  trouble.  All  was 
still  but  Margaret's  heavy  breathing. 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  279 

"  Na,  na,"  she  muttered  in  her  sleep,  "  he 
wad  be  shoggen  a'  to  pieces.  I  could  na 
bear  to  see  it." 

The  lump  rose  in  Dolly's  throat.  She 
felt,  as  never  in  her  life  before,  how  poor 
they  were  in  numbers,  how  isolated  from 
larger  circles  where  life  was  a  bustling- 
business,  and  people  made  new  friends  and 
dispensed  with  old  ones  every  day.  How 
easily  Alan  had  affiliated  with  all  that 
seemed  so  hostile,  so  insolent,  to  herself! 
All  the  world  to  Dolly  was  made  up  of  Sum- 
mercamps,  and  their  money  and  their  plans 
and  their  pleasures.  She  had  no  heart  to 
go  on  with  Alan's  rank  rejoicings.  In  the 
stillness  of  that  smitten  place  there  was  al 
most  a  ribald  tone  in  his  talk  of  dinners,  and 
theatre  parties,  and  roses  at  a  dollar  apiece, 
and  new  clothes,  and  new  friends  who  had 
never  heard  of  the  canon  or  the  scheme. 
Philip  came  and  sat  beside  her,  unbuckling 
his  spurs,  and  knocking  off  the  dust  on  the 
doorstep. 

"  Why  do  you  take  it  so  seriously?" 

"  She  is  five-and-twenty,  and  he  is  not 
nineteen,  and  they  met  on  the  train,  and 
were  engaged  two  days  after  they  reached 
New  York.  And  he  thinks  her  father  and 


280  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

mother  are  delighted.  If  they  are,  they  are 
very  strange  people." 

"  Alan  is  a  very  sweet  boy,"  said  Philip. 

"  Oh,  he  is,  he  is !  He  might  have  been," 
sobbed  Dolly,  breaking  down.  "  But  now 
he  '11  never  be  anything  but  a  hanger-on  of 
those  people." 

"  They  are  the  same  age  inside."  Philip 
tried  to  comfort  her.  "  I  spent  a  day  with 
her  myself,  remember.  She  is  very  jolly, 
and  clever,  and  nice,  as  girls  go,  and  you 
can't  deny  she  is  pretty.  And  they  have  a 
power  of  money." 

"  So  you  think  because  she  is  pretty  and 
rich  it  must  be  all  right !  "  cried  Dolly, 
scornfully. 

"  I  think  it  might  be  much  worse.  '  Bet 
ter  not  be  too  proud.'  " 

Her  lips  trembled.  "I  know  very  well 
what  you  mean.  You  think,  with  poor 
Alan,  the  most  we  can  ask  is  to  be  defended 
from  the  worst.  But,  except  for  Pacheco 
and  all  her  squalid  connections,  I  'd  sooner 
it  had  been  Antonia." 

"O  Dolly,  no!  There  are  possibilities 
with  a  Miss  Summercamp,  but  none  with  an 
Antonia.  Besides,  they  are  not  married  yet. 
Come,  Dolly,"  he  said,  rising  and  offering 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  281 

his  hand;  "come,  you  must  brace  up,  you 
know.  You  will  have  to  comfort  your  fa 
ther.  He  hates  it  rather  worse  than  you  do." 

They  walked  on  toward  the  gate  together, 
Dolly  clasping  and  twisting  the  letter  in  her 
nervous  hands. 

"  Is  n't  it  pitiful,  is  n't  it  absurd !  One 
can't  have  even  the  comfort  of  calling  it  a 
sorrow!  Suppose  they  don't  marry;  or  sup 
pose  they  do,  and  get  tired  of  each  other  in 
a  year  ?  There  's  no  knowing  what  he  '11  do 
next.  Margaret  has  always  said  the  price 
would  be  required  of  us,  if  ever  we  should  ! 
get  our  great  wish.  The  work  is  going  on  ; 
all  has  come  to  pass  that  we  used  to  pray 
for  —  but  there  is  Alan's  cap  on  the  wall, 
and  my  father  does  not  look  as  if  success 
agreed  with  him." 

"Dolly,  you  are  not  going  back  on  the 
scheme?" 

"  Ah,  it  costs  too  much.     And  it  may  not  /[  ^/ 
be  for  us,  after  all." 

"That  should  not  matter.  And  we  are 
in  it  now  for  all  we  are  worth.  When  a 
thing  like  this  gets  started  it  Urns  those  who 
thought  to  run  it.  Don't  go  in  yet;  it  is 
all  quiet  in  there.  You  look  as  if  you 
needed  a  walk.  Take  my  arm  ?  " 


282  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  No ;  people  must  walk  wide  apart  in 
this  dust." 

"  Take  my  hand,  then." 

"  I  need  both  hands  for  my  skirts." 

"Fiddlededee  your  skirts!  I  never  saw 
a  small  person  so  occupied  with  her  clothes. 
You  should  wear  buckskins,  like  a  little 
squawsy,  and  then  you  could  trot  alongside 
and  kick  up  all  the  dust  you  pleased." 

"  If  I  were  a  squaw  I  should  trot  behind." 

"  Not  if  you  were  my  squaw." 

Dolly's  chin  went  up,  and  she  walked 
wider  apart  than  ever  ;  but  she  was  no 
longer  quite  so  melancholy;  and  presently 
she  began  quoting,  in  a  tone  of  high  deri 
sion  :  — 

"  '  We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn 
Frae  mornin'  sun  till  dine.' 

"  How  Margaret  used  to  love  to  sing  those 
words  to  us,  who  never  heard  the  sound  of 
a  burn  in  all  our  lives!  And  she  from  a 
country  that  sang  and  shouted  with  water !  " 

"What  does  it  matter  where  we  do  our 
paddling  ?  It 's  whom  we  paddle  with.  I 
can  fancy  just  as  good  paddling  in  this  dust 
of  the  plains  as  in  any  burn  that  ever 
brawled;  only  I  should  paddle  on  horse 
back,  with  my  squaw  on  a  pony  beside  me. 


A  BROKEN  TOOL.  283 

Come  out  where  we  have  n't  these  lines  of 
fence  posts  in  our  faces.  Hark  !  How  still 
it  is,  after  the  canon  !  " 

Night  was  falling,  the  clear  sky  of  the  des 
ert  darkening  slowly  without  a  cloud.  Dew 
on  the  pungent  sage  dampened  the  dust  and 
gave  strength  to  the  air  they  breathed.  A 
bell-mare  hoppled  somewhere  in  the  brush, 
clanked  flatly  as  she  stepped.  Coyotes 
raved  in  the  far  offing  like  a  pack  of  de 
mented  dogs.  Against  the  low,  bright  west 
loomed  a  cowboy  shape,  enlarging  in  a 
spurt  of  dust  that  unrolled  and  drifted  to 
leeward.  He  veered,  and  passed  them  afar, 
and  the  beat  of  his  horse's  hoofs  throbbed, 
fainter  and  fainter,  long  after  the  dust  hid 
him. 

"  Dolly,"  said  Philip,  "  don't  forget  what 
we  are  here  for :  this  is  the  land  we  are 
going  to  reclaim.  Can  you  not  fancy  it 
—  miles  and  miles,  at  sunset,  shining  with 
ditches,  catching  the  sky  in  gleams ;  and 
the  low  houses  and  the  crops,  and  the  dark 
lines  of  trees  reflected  in  the  water-channels  ? 
You  will  like  it  when  you  see  it,  and  I 
should  n't  be  surprised  if  you  called  it  home. 
And  if  there  are  no  burns,  there  will  be 
gentle,  sober  ditches.  Our  waters  shall  do 


284  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

their  singing  and  shouting  up  in  the  moun 
tains  ;  they  come  down  here  on  business. 
Your  burns  are  nothing  but  mad  children. 
Ditches  are  tender,  good  mothers,  taking 
thought  where  they  go,  not  ripping  and  tear 
ing  through  the  land.  Oh,  you  will  like  it, 
and  one  day  you  will  own  it  for  your  coun 
try.  You  are  a  'bunch-grass  belle,'  Dolly, 
however  you  may  boast  of  your  heather." 


XIX. 

THE   IRONY   OF   SUCCESS. 

BY  the  following  spring  Job  had  so  far 
recovered  from  his  stroke  as  to  be  able  to  sit 
in  the  rude  wheeled-chair  contrived  for  him, 
in  front  of  the  cabin  in  the  sunshine,  and 
to  watch  Margaret  digging  in  the  garden, 
or  watering  the  calves,  or  hanging  out  her 
wash  on  the  lines  Job  had  put  up  for  her 
in  the  days  of  his  usefulness.  A  neighbor 
had  taken  the  management  of  the  farm  "  on 
shares,"  but,  with  the  chores  and  the  house 
work  and  the  care  of  the  invalid,  Margaret's 
hands  were  full.  The  doctor  had  said  that 
Job  might  be  with  her  in  his  present  condi 
tion  for  years,  or  he  might  be  smitten  again 
without  warning,  and  pass  in  a  few  hours. 
His  speech  had  not  come  back,  beyond  a 
few  drear  mutterings,  intelligible  to  no  one 
but  Margaret.  When  they  were  alone  she 
talked  to  him  as  a  child  to  her  doll,  or  as  a 
mother  to  her  speechless  but  sentient  infant. 

One  afternoon,  close  upon  the  finish  of 


286  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  canon  work,  Dunsmuir  sat  and  talked 
with  Margaret  in  the  door  of  the  claim- 
cabin,  and  between  them,  bolstered  in  his 
chair,  was  that  sad  effigy  of  Job.  Spring 
had  changed  everything  since  the  day  of 
the  gray  September  dust-storm.  The  little 
house  stood  low,  on  the  edge  of  a  rich  bot 
tom  grown  up  in  wild  grass.  The  willows 
and  cottonwoods  had  leaves  large  enough  to 
cast  shadows.  From  the  mesa,  where  Job's 
main  lateral  plowed  along,  the  brown, 
seeded  land  fell  away,  like  a  matronly  lap, 
toward  the  river.  The  wheat  looked  well, 
considering  the  unfavorable  spring  which  is 
ever  the  lot  of  new  settlers ;  but  the  orchard, 
planted  with  trees  the  size  of  walking-sticks, 
was  needing  water  badly.  There  had  been 
a  week  of  hot,  drying  winds,  most  untimely ; 
snow  was  going  fast  on  the  mountains,  and 
the  river  tumbled  by  the  vivid  meadow-grass 
in  a  yellow,  seething  flood. 

Dunsmuir  praised  Margaret's  manage 
ment,  and  promised  her  a  4  lot  of  stuff '  for 
her  garden  another  year.  He  had  grown 
used  to  Job's  nonentity,  and  talked  across 
him,  cheerfully,  as  if  his  chair  had  been 
vacant.  But  Margaret  noted  every  subtle 
change  in  the  face  of  her  invalid,  and  when- 


THE  IRONY  OF  SUCCESS.  287 

ever  a  wan,  unrestful  look  of  his  sought  her, 
she  had  always  some  comforting  expedient 
in  reserve. 

"  I  'm  charged  to  tell  you,"  said  Dunsmuir, 
"  that  we  can  never  do  without  you  in  these 
preparations  for  the  great  day.  Dolly  is  in 
a  dozen  quandaries,  and  has  no  one  but  men 
to  advise  with,  and  the  cooking  will  all 
4  gang  agley '  without  Margaret  to  superin 
tend  ;  so  what 's  to  be  done  ?  Cannot  we 
fit  up  one  of  the  wagons  as  an  ambulance 
for  Job,  and  move  you  both,  stick  an'  stow, 
up  to  the  house  till  this  mummery  is  over? 
Job  must  see  the  head  -  works  before  the 
gates  are  shut.  Eh,  Job  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  it 's  not  to  be  thought  on," 
Margaret  interposed. 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  find  us  some 
trusty  woman  with  a  good  skill  at  the  cook 
ing.  It  is  far  too  much  to  put  upon  Jenny 
and  a  young  mistress  like  Dolly." 

Dunsmuir  often  fell  into  Margaret's  way 
of  speaking,  in  talking  with  her  since  her 
trouble ;  it  was  the  expression  of  his  near 
ness.  Every  shade  of  misconception  had 
passed  from  between  them ;  there  was  even 
a  greater  ease  and  kindness  in  Dunsmuir's 
manner.  He  was  more  himself  with  them 


288  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

at  the  cabin  than  with  any  who  knew  him, 
even  his  daughter.  And  he  was  more  out 
spoken  with  Margaret  about  his  own  affairs 
than  he  had  been  while  she  was  one  of  his 
household ;  for  now  he  was  freed  from  her 
anxious  feminine  oversight,  and  from  the 
pressure  of  one-sided  obligations. 

"  I  '11  may  be  no  ken  the  new  ways  o'  the 
house,"  said  Margaret,  ignoring  the  possibil 
ity  of  another  woman,  "  with  a'  this  cum'er- 
some  work  going  forrit,  and  the  look  of 
everything  changed.  I  hear  ye  have  built  a 
new  stable." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort ;  we  have  built  a 
bridge  from  the  house  to  the  old  stable,  to 
save  pulling  and  hauling  across  the  gulch. 
There  is  nothing  changed  about  the  house, 
and  the  ways  are  the  same  ye  have  known 
going  on  for  twenty  years.  Why,  Job  will 
be  blithe  to  spare  you  for  a  day,  with  a 
neighbor  body  to  wait  upon  him.  It 's  not 
the  work,  —  we  can  get  hands  enough,  —  it 
is  a  head  that  is  wanting.  There  '11  be 
twenty  people  to  luncheon  at  the  house,  and 
tables  in  the  tents  for  the  crowd.  Dolly, 
the  child,  knows  nothing  how  to  provide  for 
such  a  raff  of  folk,  and  my  way  is  a  man's 
way.  She  would  know  every  detail  before- 


THE  IRONY  OF  SUCCESS.  289 

hand,  and  she  is  thrifty,  and  grudges  the 
waste  that  comes  of  loose  providing." 

"  Gude  save  us  !  and  is  a'  that  to  come 
out  of  the  family?" 

Dunsmuir  chuckled  over  Margaret's  pru 
dential  alarm.  He  teased  her  awhile  about 
the  expenses  of  the  forthcoming  entertain 
ment,  and  then  confessed  it  was  the  com 
pany's  affair. 

"  But  we  must  do  our  part,  if  only  for 
pride's  sake." 

"  And  do  ye  think,  now,  that  it 's  worth 
while  ?  "  she  shrewdly  asked. 

"  Why,  if  advertising  be  worth  while  —  it 
is  an  advertisement  of  the  canal.  The  man 
ager  knows  his  business.  The  trouble  is,  he 
thinks  he  knows  mine.  The  water  is  to  be 
backed  up  against  the  dam  to  make  a  show 
for  the  people,  when  the  lake  should  be  a 
month,  at  least,  filling  up.  But  the  powers 
have  ordained  that  we  celebrate." 

"  And  what  will  they  have  to  their  pro 
gramme  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  a  Fourth  of  July,  wanting 
the  powder.  The  head-works  are  the  '  grand 
stand '  for  the  principal  guests  and  the 
speaking.  There  will  be  plenty  of  bunting, 
and  brandy  and  soda;  and  the  city  band 


290  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

will  be  there ;  and  Price  Norrisson  will  ad 
dress  the  meeting.  And  the  ladies  will  cast 
their  bouquets  into  the  canal  bed,  as  the 
water  is  turned  in,  —  a  marriage,  you  see,  of 
the  river  and  the  ditch,  —  and  my  poor  girl 
is  to  cast  the  first  one  "  — 

"  Eh,  sirs !  an'  will  ye  allow  that,  an'  be 
fore  a'  that  crowd  o'  strange  folk  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  the  thing  must  be  done,  I  know 
no  other  lady  who  could  be  bridesmaid  to 
the  ditch,  unless  it 's  yourself,  Margaret. 
You  might  do  it  to  spare  Dolly ;  though,  as 
a  fact,  I  think  the  poor  child  is  pleased. 
She  takes  it  all  in  good  faith,  as  she  should. 
It 's  only  here  by  ourselves  that  I  dare  to 
sit  among  the  scorners.  But  the  cream  of 
the  joke  will  be  Norrisson's  oration.  He  is 
to  father  the  whole  concern.  He  will  give 
us  the  progress  of  Irrigation  (with  a  capital 
I)  in  this  region,  with  a  history  of  our  own 
canal,  for  the  benefit  of  the  press  reporters. 
He  will  spread  it  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific,  and  by  the  next  steamer  to  the  other 
side ;  but  there  '11  be  a  searching  of  hearts 
in  the  audience,  I  'm  thinking.  There  are 
a  few  of  us  left  who  could  give  him  points 
to  help  him  out  with  his  tale.  Here,  God 
pity  us  !  is  a  weary  page  of  it."  Dunsmuir 


THE  IRONY  OF  SUCCESS.  291 

laid  his  hand  on  Job's  nerveless  right  arm. 
"  Tons  and  tons  of  rock  lie  bedded  in  the 
river  that  this  white,  bloodless  hand  sent 
smoking  down  the  glen  side.  Ay,  if  we  had 
the  rock  and  the  stone  piled  in  one  heap  that 
Job  has  moved  off  the  canal  line,  it  would 
build  him  a  cairn  fit  for  a  chieftain's  mon 
ument.  Job's  hand  should  have  been  the 
first  to  raise  the  head-gates  ;  but  now  the 
force  has  gone  out  of  it,  and  I  must  take 
hold  beside  Norrisson." 

"  Eh,  sirs !  "  cried  Margaret,  again,  all 
her  partisan  blood  uprising.  "  And  is  that, 
do  you  think,  as  it  should  be,  now  ?  " 

"  It  is  as  it  is,"  said  Dunsmuir.  "  I  may 
let  go,  if  I  choose  to  sulk  in  public,  but 
Norrisson's  fist  will  remain ;  it  has  a  healthy 
grip  upon  most  things.  Have  you  not 
learned  that  in  this  country  the  engineer  is 
the  hireling,  not  the  counselor  ?  It 's  money 
that  builds  here,  not  brains  and  education. 
Norrisson  will  be  the  great  man  of  the  day. 
And  '  we  that  strove  mightily  shall  eat  and 
drink  as  friends.'  But  you  will  come,  Mar 
garet,  and  take  a  glass  with  me  in  silence  to 
the  memories  we  two  are  left  to  keep  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  I  '11  drink  nae  glasses,"  said 
Margaret,  wiping  away  a  quiet  tear  that 


292  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

started  as  she  spoke.  "  Let  them  eat  and 
drink  as  maun,  to  show  their  gude  wull. 
There 's  nae  need  o'  that  amang  friends. 
But  I  will  come  for  a  day  before  the  day, 
and  gi'  ye  what  help  I  can." 

"  And  will  you  not  come  and  look  on  at 
the  feasting?  You  will  never  have  seen  so 
many  people  together  since  you  came  to  the 
canon." 

"  Na ;  a  feast  is  no  a  feast  to  me  wi'out 
my  auld  man  is  there." 

"  You  speak  like  yourself,"  said  Duns- 
muir.  "Well,  good-by  to  you  both  —  hon 
est  friends  as  man  ever  had  in  this  world. 
Do  you  think  he  follows  me,  Margaret?" 
Dunsmuir  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on 
Job's  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  long,  with  a 
sorrowful  questioning,  into  the  dumb-stricken 
countenance. 

"  He  is  there,  the  same  as  ever,"  said 
Margaret. 

"  Yes ;  he  is  there,"  said  Dunsmuir. 
"  Nor  more  estranged  from  us  than  we,  that 
can  speak,  from  one  another.  There  are 
bonds  and  bonds,  Margaret,  woman ;  and 
where  is  the  soul  clothed  in  flesh,  and  the 
desires  of  the  flesh,  that  can  call  itself  free  ? 
Job,  I  'm  thinking,  is  nearer  his  freedom 
than  any  of  us." 


XX. 

THE  WATERS   GATHER. 

"  LOOK  out  for  the  water  at  the  ranch  to 
morrow  evening,  Margaret." 

"  Gude  save  us !  will  it  be  a'  that  while 
on  the  road?" 

"  It  will,  and  longer  if  I  had  my  way  of 
it." 

"Are  ye  afeard  the  banks  will  not  be 
strong  enough  to  tak'  the  first  flood  o'  't  ?  " 
Margaret  asked  in  an  anxious  whisper.  She 
was  already  in  her  place  beside  the  driver 
on  the  single  seat  of  the  buckboard,  having 
characteristically  refused  to  stay  to  dinner, 
or  to  have  dinner  earlier,  after  working  like 
three  women  since  nine  o'clock  on  that  toil 
some  day  before  the  day. 

Dunsmuir  smiled  at  her  precautionary 
whisper,  not  to  spread  her  fears. 

"  There  is  no  first  flood  in  a  new  canal, 
woman.  It 's  plain  ye  were  not  bred  in  a 
canal  country.  The  water  creeps  in  like  a 
baby  taking  its  first  steps.  It  must  walk 
before  it  can  run." 


294  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

"  Fair  fa'  its  steps,  then,"  Margaret  ejacu 
lated.  "  But,  sirs !  it  is  a  fearsome  busi 
ness."  She  turned  her  reddened,  earnest 
countenance  upon  Dtmsmuir  as  he  stood 
smiling,  with  his  foot  on  the  fore  wheel,  hin 
dering  her  departure. 

"  What  is  there  fearsome  about  it  ?  It  is 
an  old,  respectable  business  as  any  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  You  may  read  of  its 
works  in  your  Bible." 

"  I  have  read  how  the  Lord  proved  Moses 
at  the  waters  of  Meribah,"  said  Margaret, 
solemnly,  "  for  that  he  smote,  and  sanctified 
Him  not  before  the  people.  And  do  ye 
mind  what  was  the  judgment  ?  '  Yet  shalt 
thou  see  the  land  before  thee,  but  thou  shalt 
not  go  thither  into  that  land  which  I  give  to 
the  children  of  Israel.'  " 

"  Ye  are  grand  at  the  Scripture,  Mar 
garet,  but  I  can  cap  your  judgments  with 
the  promise  that  stands  fair  for  all  irriga- 
tors  of  the  desert.  '  He  that  watereth  shall 
be  watered  also  himself.'  We  make  no  pre 
tense  to  be  leaders,  or  lawgivers,  or  guides 
to  the  people  in  their  wanderings." 

"  Ah,  ye  are  daffin'  when  ye  had  far  bet 
ter  be  prayin'.  It  disna  set  wi'  my  way  of 
thinkin',  sic  a  day  o'  muckle  eatin'  an' 


THE  WATERS   GATHER.  295 

drinkin',  wantin'  the  thanks  due  to  the  giver 
of  a'  things.  There  's  a  mony  mair  warnin's 
than  promises  in  the  Scripture  set  over 
against  that  word  water.  The  Lord  Al 
mighty  makes  it  his  boast  that  he  holds 
them  in  his  hand.  Do  ye  mind  how  he 
answered  Job  out  o'  the  whirlwind,  speerin' 
whaur  was  he  when  the  sea  brak'  forth  an' 
the  clouds  were  its  swaddlin'  band  ?  He 
that  presumes  to  know  the  ordinances  of 
Heaven ;  who  brak's  the  seal  o'  the  auld, 
ancient,  fearsome  waters,  to  turn  them  from 
their  given  course  —  he  '11  need  to  mind !  " 

"  Well,  can't  you  give  us  a  better  word 
than  that  for  the  last  one  ? "  Dunsmuir 
held  out  his  hand.  To  his  surprise,  Mar 
garet  was  speechless.  She  wiped  her  hand 
hastily  on  her  apron,  and  gave  his  a  hard, 
warm  squeeze,  and  then  broke  down  com 
pletely. 

It  was  partly  the  sight  of  the  canon  as 
she  was  leaving  it,  at  the  hour  of  its  most 
solemn  beauty;  for  the  place  was  home  to 
her.  But  Margaret  had  also  a  superstitious 
fear  of  success,  coming  to  one  so  long  out  of 
touch  with  fortune,  to  one  who  claimed  so 
much,  and  so  proudly,  in  the  name  of  his 
work. 


296  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

Dolly  was  late  for  dinner  that  evening. 
"  I  have  something  to  do  to  my  dress,"  she 
whispered  to  her  father  aside.  "  Do  you 
mind  that  it  is  a  little  frock  of  mamma's  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  mind  ?  Poor  child,  with 
no  mother's  hands  to  make  her  fine  !  " 
Dunsmuir  drew  her  to  him,  pressing  her  head 
close  to  his  breast.  "  Dolly,  if  ever  any  one 
should  come,  asking  questions  of  you  —  be 
slow,  be  slow  to  answer  him!  Remember, 
a  woman's  no  may  be  changed  to  yes ;  but 
her  yes  should  be  yes  forever.  They  say  he 
gives  twice  who  gives  quickly ;  it  is  not  so 
with  all  giving.  A  man  does  not  prize  a 
woman's  readiness." 

"  Father !  "  Dolly  exclaimed,  looking  hurt 
and  frightened. 

"  I  'm  not  saying  that  you  have  been  — 
I  'm  saying  nothing ;  but  for  God's  sake, 
know  your  mind.  Tell  him  no,  whoever  he 
may  be ;  tell  him  no,  and  no,  for  as  long  as 
you  can  say  it !  " 

Dunsmuir  and  Philip  sat  down  to  dinner 
together  in  silence.  At  Dolly's  empty  place 
there  lay  a  sumptuous  bouquet  of  hothouse 
roses,  with  a  gentleman's  card  attached. 

"  From  my  father,"  Philip  replied,  to  the 
other's  questioning  look. 


THE  WATERS   GATHER.  297 

64  Ay,"  said  Dunsmuir,  grimly.  "  And 
are  those  the  flowers  she  is  to  fling  at  the 
feet  of  the  waters  to-inorrow  ?  I  should 
have  given  her  a  bunch  of  sage  and  sun 
flowers,  or  a  handful  of  wild  syringa  from 
the  rocks  ;  but  your  father's  gifts  always 
have  a  trade  value.  There  '11  be  as  much 
as  ten  dollars'  worth  of  roses  in  that  bunch, 
I  dare  say?" 

"  Expense  is  nothing  to  us  now,"  said 
Philip,  forcing  a  smile.  "  The  work  is 
done." 

"  Yes,  the  work  is  done  ;  not  as  we  meant, 
but  as  we  could,  which  is  the  way  of  most 
men's  working.  The  work  as  I  planned  it 
remains  for  some  other  man  to  do." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  work,"  said 
Philip ;  "  the  best  thing  about  it,  to  me,  is 
that  it  is  finished.  And  now,  may  I  have 
your  leave  to  speak  to  Dolly  ?  " 

"  What  is  your  hurry,  man  ?  The  child 
has  enough  to  think  of  with  this  silly  cele 
bration  on  her  hands.  Leave  her  in  peace 
till  the  house  is  empty,  and  the  ditch  is 
full,"  he  added,  with  his  melancholy  smile, 
in  which  Philip  felt  the  touch  of  forebod 
ing. 

"If  my  speaking  is  to  be  only  another 


298  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

trouble  to  Dolly,  for  heaven's  sake,  let  me 
speak  and  have  done  with  it ! " 
"  Speak  then  ;  but  remember,  — 

" '  He  that  bends  to  himself  a  joy 
Doth  the  winged  life  destroy.' 

Be  sure  that  what  you  grasp  at  is  meant  for 
you  and  for  no  other,  else  you  will  see  your 
bonny  rosebud  wither  in  your  hand." 

Dunsmuir  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  be 
gan  walking  up  and  down  the  room  excit 
edly,  saying,  in  his  deepest  voice :  "  God 
knows  I  have  nothing  to  wish  for  but  my 
child's  happiness,  yet  I  cannot  wish  you 
success.  You  '11  get  it,  I  know  that  well 
enough ;  but  why  should  a  man  win  his  wife 
so  easily  ?  It 's  not  the  way  with  other 
winnings.  And  what  will  her  yes  be  worth 
—  a  child,  who  has  seen  no  one  but  your 
self?" 

"  I  will  take  her  yes  and  be  thankful,  if  I 
can  get  it,"  Philip  murmured.  "  The  old 
way  is  good  enough  for  me." 

Dolly  came  in,  radiant  as  Night,  in  a 
gauzy  dress  of  black  that  left  her  white 
throat  bare  above  the  round  neck  of  the  cor 
sage.  She  was  too  conscious  of  her  first 
toilet  to  help  smiling,  her  color  mounting 
high.  Philip  rose  with  a  beating  heart,  and 


THE  WATERS   GATHER.  299 

placed  her  chair ;  but  her  father  looked  at 
her  strangely. 

"  Is  that  your  dress  for  to-morrow  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  It  is  the  one  I  spoke  to  you  about.  Is 
there  anything  wrong  with  it  ?  " 

"  '  Black  is  for  mourning ; '  you  cannot 
wear  black  for  the  Marriage  of  the  Ditch." 

Dolly  was  greatly  disappointed.  A  vision 
of  herself  in  one  of  her  old  home-made 
frocks,  before  all  that  staring  crowd  at  the 
head-gates,  before  the  town  ladies  and  the 
magnates  from  a  distance,  preoccupied  her 
miserably. 

"  There  's  no  gainsaying  a  woman  on  a 
question  of  her  clothes,"  said  Dunsmuir. 
"  Come,  eat  your  dinner,  and  don't  sit  there 
so  big-eyed !  Look  at  the  grand  bouquet 
the  manager  sends  to  the  Lady  of  the  Big 
Ditch." 

Dunsmuir  ate  nothing  himself ;  he  was 
jerky  and  artificial  in  his  talk.  The  others 
made  no  attempt  to  talk  at  all. 

"  If  you  want  me,"  said  Dunsmuir,  rising 
and  looking  at  Philip,  "you  will  find  me  at 
the  dam.  The  lake  is  filling  fast;  I  shall 
stay  below  till  bedtime."  Philip  had  risen 
and  stood  by  his  chair  and  Dolly  leaned 


300  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

forward,  watching  her  father's  face ;  she 
was  startled  at  its  paleness  and  fixity. 
"  There  is  a  strange  fascination  in  that  ves 
ture  of  stone  and  mortar,  to  one  who  knows 
its  history."  He  spoke  to  Philip.  "  Our 
tale  of  bricks  is  completed:  it  is  time  we 
gat  us  up  out  of  the  land  of  bondage.  Now 
what's  the  word  for  to-morrow?  —  let  us 
see."  He  stopped  by  the  door,  in  passing 
out,  and  tore  a  leaf  from  the  calendar.  In 
the  waning  light  he  stooped  and  read 
aloud :  — 

"  '  God  is  not  dumb  that  He  should  speak  no  more : 
If  I  have  wanderings  in  the  wilderness, 
And  find  not  Sinai,  't  is  my  soul  is  poor.' 

'  And  find  not  Sinai,'  "  he  repeated,  smil 
ing  at  Philip.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you,  it  is 
time  we  gat  us  up  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  the  4  land  of 
bondage  '  ?  "  whispered  Dolly  as  the  door 
closed. 

"His  long  waiting,  perhaps,"  Philip  an 
swered,  though  he  knew  well  what  Duns- 
muir  meant. 

The  breeze  from  the  river  parted  the  light 
curtains  on  the  tinkling  rods  ;  shattered 
gleams  struck  here  and  there  about  the  dark 
ening  room.  Moments  remembered  and 


THE  WATERS    GATHER.  301 

words  spoken  between  them  revived  with 
sudden  intensity  of  meaning.  He  was  free 
to  speak  now,  but  his  heart  was  too  full. 

"  Give  me  just  a  moment  on  the  grass  by 
the  east  windows  ?  "  he  entreated,  as  if  there 
were  scarce  hope  of  such  a  boon. 

Their  very  nearness  troubled  the  currents 
between  them,  and  kept  them  apart.  Out 
side,  the  waters  were  climbing  silently  be 
hind  the  dam  —  faster  for  the  heavy  rains 
that  had  been  falling  on  the  mountains, 
augmented  by  the  melting  snows.  Every 
inch  of  that  tremendous  watershed  was  cast 
ing  in  its  drop;  but  below  the  hill,  where 
the  bar  had  been  heard  to  roar  on  soft  spring 
nights  like  this,  all  was  ominously  quiet. 
The  lake  was  creeping  up  and  up,  leaning 
its  swelling  heart  against  the  dam.  A  faint 
ripple,  a  stealthy  sound,  not  to  be  detected 
without  close  listening,  alone  betrayed  the 
gathering  of  those  mighty  incoming  forces. 

A  new  moon,  as  slender  as  a  young  girl's 
finger,  beckoned  in  the  west.  Philip  walked 
the  grass  impatiently;  a  hard  excitement 
tightened  his  grasp  upon  his  bated  bliss. 

"  My  love,  my  love,"  he  whispered  —  "  of 
the  summer,  of  the  autumn,  of  the  winter ; 
come,  come  and  bless  me,  for  the  work  is 


302  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

done,  and  the  water,  the  water,  is  climbing 
fast !  "  All  the  while  he  was  hideously  con 
scious  of  the  water. 

"  Shut  the  gates  and  let  her  head  up." 
This  was  the  order  which  had  come  from  the 
manager's  office.  The  chief  had  been  in  a 
mood  of  desperate,  savage  acquiescence  in 
any  madness  that  might  proceed  from  the 
office  in  town ;  and  between  the  fighting 
captains  the  soldier  has  but  his  orders. 

He  stepped  across  the  rose-~bed,  and  called 
softly  at  Dolly's  window,  "  Are  you  never 
coming?"  And  in  that  instant  it  was  too 
late.  There  was  a  shout ;  he  was  wanted  at 
the  dam. 

He  glanced  at  the  lake  as  he  ran  along 
the  hill.  In  that  last  hour  it  had  climbed  a 
foot.  It  was  awful :  climbing,  shimmering, 
darkling ;  and  in  its  depths  floated  the  in 
verted  crescent,  his  moon  of  love  sinking  in 
the  lake. 

Dunsmuir  was  down  by  the  toe  of  the  dam, 
stooping  far  out  on  the  edge  of  the  sluggish 
remnant  of  water  which  crawled  in  the  down 
stream  channel.  He  called  Philip,  by  name, 
as  he  had  not  spoken  to  him  for  months. 
His  manner  was  direct,  simple,  responsible  ; 
he  bore  himself  as  a  man  in  the  presence  of 
a  great  danger. 


THE  WATERS   GATHER.  303 

"  For  God's  sake,  look  at  that !  " 

Water  is  a  very  secret,  subtle  thing;  it 
dissembles  its  sinister  forces  in  trifling  ap 
pearances  which  might  amuse  a  child.  The 
two  men  were  staring  at  just  a  toss  of  bub 
bles  discolored  with  mud  boiling  up  and 
spreading  fast  from  the  toe  of  the  dam. 
But  these  came  from  a  spot  just  over  the 
fault  in  the  foundation.  No  more  was  said, 
but  the  order  was  given  to  open  the  scouring- 
gate.  Philip  had  started  up  the  bank  toward 
the  head  works  when  a  second  eruption  fol 
lowed,  more  copious,  violent,  and  muddier 
than  the  first. 

Dunsmuir  called  to  him :  "  Stop ;  I  will 
go.  Saddle  up,  and  get  word  down  the  line 
on  this  side,  and  send  a  man  across.  Go 
yourself  across ;  it  will  be  a  close  call  this 
side  of  the  notch.  You  must  save  Margaret 
and  the  old  man." 

There  was  no  question  to  each  man  of  his 
duty  :  to  the  young  man  his  orders  —  to  ride 
and  to  save ;  to  the  chief  his  watch  by  the 
breaking  dam. 

As  Philip  bounded  up  the  hill  he  was 
thinking,  between  heart -beats,  not  of  the 
work,  nor  of  his  orders,  nor  even  of  that 
deathless  call  that  now  and  then  singles  a 


304  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

modest  youth  from  the  ranks,  and  spends 
him,  in  one  wild  moment,  for  a  deed  that  but 
for  some  one's  blundering  had  not  needed  to 
be  done  ;  —  he  was  arguing  the  point  with 
himself  quite  simply  and  with  great  clear 
ness  :  he  could  not  go  without  one  kiss  from 
Dolly.  There  would  not  be  time  to  ask  her 
or  to  tell  her  why.  If  the  dam  should  break 
before  he  gained  the  notch,  she  would  know, 
then,  why  he  kissed  her  ;  if  he  made  it,  alive, 
there  would  be  time  enough  to  explain. 

Dunsmuir  had  not  been  able  to  relieve  the 
pressure  on  the  dam  ;  within  its  foundations 
disorganization  had  progressed  so  rapidly 
that  all  its  functions  had  ceased.  Dissolu 
tion,  he  knew,  must  be  near.  He  had  timed 
Philip  from  his  start.  He  had  lost  a  mo 
ment  above,  warning  Dolly  not  to  go  off  the 
hill  (no ;  Philip  had  not  counted  that  mo 
ment  lost)  ;  he  had  lost  other  moments  rais 
ing  the  camps  ;  he  had  lost  time  at  the  ford. 
He  had  half  a  mile  to  the  notch,  and  two  to 
the  ranch,  where  the  old  man  and  his  wife 
were  sleeping,  unconscious  of  all  this  wild 
work  going  on  above. 

There  was  one  spot  where  the  wagon  road, 
on  the  other  side,  crossed  a  low  ledge  project 
ing  from  the  foot  of  the  last  bluff,  which, 


THE   WATERS    GATHER.  305 

with  its  opposite  neighbor,  formed  the  notch 
of  the  canon.  When  sunset  fell  clear  and 
the  color  lingered,  a  horseman  crossing  that 
step  could  be  seen  from  the  dam,  a  speck 
against  the  low  light  in  the  west.  Dunsmuir 
walked  out  to  the  middle  ;  the  scouring-gate 
was  nearer  the  head-works.  He  stood,  just 
over  the  spot  where  the  trouble  was  advan 
cing,  and  stared  into  the  distance.  It  was 
already  too  dark ;  he  could  no  longer  make 
out  the  ledge.  He  looked  at  the  shoulder  of 
the  bluff  through  which  the  Big  Cut  was  to 
have  conducted  the  water.  Against  that  first 
obstruction  the  wave,  when  it  leaped,  would 
break,  and,  reeling  backward,  overwhelm  the 
low  shore  opposite.  A  thousand  times  he 
had  watched  the  shock,  the  dizzy  recoil,  the 
thundering  outward  swirl  of  the  spring  floods, 
now  magnified  and  uplifted  to  a  deluge. 
And  all  that  peaceful  shore,  with  the  white 
road  hugging  the  bluffs,  would  be  "  turned 
as  wax  to  the  fire,"  as  "clay  to  the  seal," 
when  the  waters  uprose  and  stamped  it  out 
of  sight. 

There  came  a  third  eruption,  with  a  fear 
ful  crunching  sound  of  smothered  upheaval. 
Enveloped  in  an  enormous  mass  of  muddy 
water,  the  piles  and  timbers  that  had  plugged 


306  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

the  foundations  of  the  dam  were  forced  up 
ward  ;  the  wall  of  the  scouring-gallery  sank, 
and  the  gate  fell  in. 

" '  Lord,  spare  the  green  and  take  the 
ripe  !  ' :  Dunsmuir  called  aloud,  from  his 
watch  on  the  dam.  He  stood  about  the 
middle  when  the  heart  of  it  burst,  and  the 
lake  went  out  in*  one  vast  arc  of  solid  water. 
The  better  part  of  the  work  remained,  as  a 
bridge,  spanning  the  awful  rupture.  On 
that  bridge  he  was  seen  one  instant  and  then 
he  was  gone.  Even  as  the  swollen  waters 
rent  their  imperfect  vesture  of  stone  and 
mortar,  so  his  soul  cast  off  its  mortal  lend- 
ings :  the  man  and  his  work  were  one. 

In  twenty  minutes  from  the  bursting  of 
the  dam  the  lake  was  empty.  And  as  the 
swollen  river  thrashed  and  sobbed  and 
rocked  itself  to  rest  in  its  old  channel  again, 
that  small,  cold  laugh  was  heard,  distinctly 
syllabled,  in  the  echo  of  the  mournful  wave 
that  broke  beneath  the  ruined  dam. 


XXI. 

DUNSMUIR'S  DAM. 

DOLLY  walked  the  empty  house,  from 
room  to  room,  under  festal  doorways  hung 
with  flags  and  silly  emblems,  between  man 
tels  banked  with  flowers,  breathing  the  sickly 
scent  of  wilted  wild  syringa,  crowded  into 
pots  in  the  cold,  drafty  fireplaces.  It  was  a 
chill  spring  morning,  but  no  one  had  thought 
to  build  a  fire.  The  house  had  a  haggard, 
bedizened  look  —  a  stare  of  homeless  expec 
tancy.  In  the  kitchen  Jenny  was  setting 
forth  breakfast  for  the  men,  hastily  choosing 
from  the  heaped  dainties  that  now  were 
funeral  baked  meats.  The  tents,  and  all  the 
camp  outfit,  were  strewn  for  miles  down  the 
valley. 

Word  had  come  from  below  that  Philip 
had  signaled  his  safety,  but  could  not  cross, 
as  all  the  boats  were  loose,  and  the  ford  was 
roaring.  But  toward  evening  he  came,  bring 
ing  Margaret  with  him ;  and  Job's  wife  was 
a  widow.  They  had  snatched  the  old  man 


308  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

in  his  blankets  and  carried  him,  half  insen 
sible,  to  the  mesa,  when  the  wave  went  down. 
He  had  not  survived  the  shock  and  the 
exposure,  but  passed  in  the  night,  Margaret 
watching  by  him  alone,  while  Philip  went  on, 
down  the  submerged  valley,  carrying  assist 
ance  to  the  fleeing  settlers. 

No  lives  were  lost  but  those  two  most 
closely  bound  up  in  the  history  of  the  work : 
but  in  the  track  of  the  wave  fields  were 
buried,  and  houses  were  gutted,  or  swept 
away  ;  and  a  heavy  tale  of  damages  piled  up 
against  the  company,  besides  the  immediate 
claims  on  private  benevolence. 

It  was  not  likely  that  Dunsmuir's  dam 
would  ever  be  forgotten.  Dolly's  pride  was 
as  low  as  the  dam  ;  but  her  sympathies  had 
spread  like  the  waters.  She  was  sister  to  all 
who  owed  to  them  their  losses.  Never  was 
she  to  speak  of  the  work  again  without  re 
membering  that  it  had  failed ;  never  to  boast 
the  benefits  of  her  father's  great  scheme 
without  recalling  the  wave  of  destruction 
that  went  before.  And  the  promise  that 
was  given  in  that  hour  of  grief  and  humil 
iation  Philip  might  safely  trust,  and  with 
his  contrite  joy  began  the  work  of  repara 
tion. 


DUNSMUIRS  DAM.  309 

Hardly  had  the  canon  household  torn  down 
its  garlands  and  buried  its  dead,  when  Nor- 
risson's  telegrams  were  signaling,  east,  west, 
and  south,  for  men  and  materials  for  the 
rebuilding  of  the  dam.  And  Philip's  orders 
were  to  receive  the  stuff,  and  straightway  to 
reorganize  the  work.  When  the  new  chief 
(made  so  by  his  father's  command,  with  no 
words  wasted)  went  to  the  manager  to  talk 
over  the  plan  for  the  foundation,  Norrisson 
replied  :  — 

"  Excavate  !  Get  down  to  that  rock  if  you     , 
sink   to  hell.     This  is  Dunsmuir^s  dam" 
And  never  did  Philip  hear  another  word  of 
acknowledgment    from     his     father's    lips. 
Norrisson's  way  was  not  the  way  of  talk. 

"  But  the  high  water,"  Philip  objected. 

"  Turn  the  river  over  the  waste-weir." 

"  But,  great  heaven,  the  cost !  " 

"  I  '11  take  care  of  the  cost.  If  the  Eng 
lishmen  are  going  to  lie  down,  let  them  be 
quick  about  it ;  I  can  take  my  bonds  else 
where.  I  walked  the  floor  011  that  first 
scheme,  now  it 's  their  turn.  If  they  want 
this  thing,  they  '11  have  to  pay  first  and  talk 
afterward." 

In  that  crisis  Philip  came  to  know  his 
father.  The  man  was  simply  a  force,  devoid 


310  THE    CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

of  memory,  of  conscience,  or  of  ruth.  He 
was  nothing  hampered  by  the  past  nor 
daunted  by  the  future.  He  saw  only  the 
hole  in  the  dam,  which  he  swore  should  be 
stopped  before  the  crops  withered. 

"  You  keep  your  hand  on  the  throttle,  and 
I  '11  shove  in  the  coal,"  he  said.  And  Philip 
guided,  and  his  father  fed  the  fires  of  the 
work.  Men,  teams,  powder,  a  costly  electric 
plant,  timber,  stone,  mortar,  and  cement,  were 
hurled  into  the  canon,  as  fuel  for  those  fires 
that  burned  by  day  and  by  night,  without 
one  hour's  cessation,  till  the  hole  in  the  dam 
was  stopped  —  and  the  crops  were  not  yet 
withered.  And  Norrisson's  exultation  passed 
all  bounds :  it  was  the  measure  of  his  pre 
vious  unspoken  chagrin. 

"  Perhaps  you  thought  you  were  working 
up  here  before,"  he  bragged  to  Dunsmuir's 
ex-assistant.  "  Now  you  know  what  /  mean 
by  work.  I  should  have  let  Dunsmuir  go 
ahead  with  his  own  plan  in  the  first  place, 
if  I  could  have  driven  the  work ;  but  he 
would  n't  let  me  drive,  and  he  would  n't 
drive  himself.  If  he  had  been  in  charge 
here  now,  he  'd  have  refused  to  do  anything 
till  the  river  went  down  ;  and  then  our  stock 
would  have  been  as  low  as  the  river.  No, 


DUNSMUIKS  DAM.  311 

sir  ;  an  Englishman  does  n't  know  the  mean 
ing  of  the  word  time." 

Having  done  the  work,  and  satisfied  his 
pride,  and  boasted  like  the  son  of  Tydeus, 
he  proceeded  to  do  honor  to  the  vanquished 
dead.  Out  of  his  own  pocket,  as  though  the 
expense  were  naught  (how  that  pocket  was 
filled  has  been  hinted,  but  the  thing  could 
not  be  sworn  to),  he  superadded  to  the  par 
apet  of  the  dam  a  tier  of  open  arches,  on 
each  side  of  the  roadway  from  the  head- 
works,  or  "  poise,"  to  the  waste-weir.  At  the 
spot  where  Dunsmuir  handed  in  his  resigna 
tion,  one  arch  was  raised  above  the  others 
and  converted  into  a  niche,  wherein  was 
placed  a  bronze  mural  tablet  with  a  sculp 
tured  seat  beneath.  He  did  not  meddle  here 
with  the  design,  nor  did  he  build  in  haste,  for 
he  was  not  "  placing  "  this  work ;  it  was  his 
present  to  posterity,  conceived  in  a  spirit  of 
reparation  as  extravagant  as  his  pride. 

While  this  demonstration  was  going  for 
ward  in  honor  of  her  father,  Dolly  offered 
not  a  word.  Philip  understood  well  her 
silence  ;  he  felt,  with  her,  the  insolence  of 
his  father's  complacent  tribute  to  the  man 
he  had  first  broken  and  then  bought.  He 
also  understood  that  she.  endured  for  the 


312  THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

sake  of  the  living  what  she  would  have  re 
jected  for  the  dead.  Neither  could  he  pro- 
test  ;  and  this  strange  offering  of  mixed 
motives  added  its  significance  to  the  story  of 
the  ditch. 

"  Fifty  years  from  now  it  will  not  matter," 
Philip  comforted  himself.  Yes  ;  in  less  than 
fifty  years,  in  less  than  five.  The  great  dam 
with  its  crown  of  sculptured  arches  stood 
there  as  solid  as  the  hills,  the  lake  above,  the 
spreading  waters  below  telling  its  own  story. 
No  one  supplied  the  merciful  omissions  or  en 
forced  the  lesson.  Jacob  who  tempted,  Esau 
who  sold,  for  that  he  was  weary  and  faint 
with  fasting  long  afield  —  the  children  of 
these  very  human  fathers  were  human  also ; 
they  loved,  and  humble  love  forgave  what 
proud  principle  refused  to  condone.  As  for 
their  world,  it  was  busy  gathering  the  new 
wealth  which  the  waters  had  sown ;  it  had 
no  time  to  think  who  built  the  ditch  or  how. 
There  was  the  water. 

On  a  fair  spring  evening,  when  the  lake 
holds  the  glory  of  the  sky  reflected  in  its 
depths,  an  old  woman  may  sometimes  be 
seen,  seated  sidewise  in  the  niche,  supporting 
on  her  ample  knee  a  young  child  who  is  just 
beginning  to  stand  alone.  He  has  bright 


DUNSMUIE'S  DAM.  313 

liair  and  wonderful  hazel-gray  eyes.  With 
his  finger  he  follows  the  raised  letters  of  the 
inscription  ;  and  the  pair  might  well  have 
been  in  the  sculptor's  mind  when  he  designed 
the  niche  :  Margaret,  keeper  of  the  past,  and 
Philip's  child,  co-heir  and  co-worker  in  the 
future. 

And  the  words  the  boy  will  one  day  read 
are  these  :  — 

TO   THE   MEMORY    OF 
ROBERT    DUNSMUIR,    M.    INST.    C.    E., 

WHO   DESIGNED 
THESE   WORKS   FOR   IRRIGATION, 

1874-1891. 

I  will  even  make  a  way  in  the  wilderness,  and 
rivers  in  the  desert. 

Ye  shall  not  see  wind,  neither  shall  ye  see  rain ; 
yet  that  valley  shall  be  filled  with  water. 

But  the  text  from  which  Margaret  reads 
the  story  of  the  ditch,  the  one  she  will  rather 
teach  the  boy  to  read  it  by,  is  this  :  — 

So  then  neither  is  he  that  planteth  anything, 
neither  he  that  watereth  ;  but  God  that  giveth 
the  increase. 


The  ideal  scheme  is  ever  beckoning  from 
the  West ;  but  the  scheme  with  an  ideal  rec- 


314  THE   CHOSEN  VALLEY. 

ord  is  yet  to  find — the  scheme  that  shall 
breed  no  murmurers,  and  see  no  recreants  ; 
that  shall  avoid  envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all 
uncharitableness ;  that  shall  fulfill  its  prom- 
ises,  and  pay  its  debts,  and  remember  its 
friends,  and  keep  itself  unspotted  from  the 
world.  Over  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and 
over  the  hearts  of  the  living,  presses  the  cruel 
expansion  of  our  country's  material  progress : 
the  prophets  are  confounded,  the  promise 
withdrawn,  the  people  imagine  a  vain  thing. 
Men  shall  go  down,  the  deed  arrives ;  not  un 
impeachable,  as  the  first  proud  word  went 
forth,  but  mishandled,  shorn,  and  stained 
with  obloquy,  and  dragged  through  crushing 
strains.  And  those  that  are  with  it  in  its 
latter  days  are  not  those  who  set  out  in  the 
beginning.  And  victory,  if  it  come,  shall 
border  hard  upon  defeat. 


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By  Shore  and  Sedge.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Maruja.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Snow-Bound  at  Eagle's.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
AJ  Millionaire  of  Rough-and-Ready,  and  Devil's  Ford. 

i8mo,  $1.00. 
A   Phyllis   of  the    Sierras,  and  Drift   from  Redwood 

Camp.     i8mo,  $1.00. 

The  Argonauts  of  North  Liberty.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
A  Waif  of  the  Plains.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Novels  and  Tales.     15  vols.  i8mo,  $15.00. 
Cressy.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
The   Crusade  of  the   Excelsior.     Illustrated.      i6mo, 

$1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Heritage  of  Dedlow  Marsh,  etc.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Ward  of  the  Golden  Gate.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50 

cents. 
A  Sappho  of  Green  Springs,  and  other  Stories.     i6mo, 

$1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  First  Family  of  Tasajara.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Colonel  Starbottle's  Client,  and  Some  Other  People. 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

Susy.     A  Story  of  the  Plains.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's,  and  other  Tales.    i6mo, 

$1.25. 

Margaret  Deland. 

John  Ward,  Preacher.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Sidney.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Story  of  a  Child.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Tommy  Dove,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo,  |i.oo. 

Mary  Catherine  Lee. 

A  Quaker  Girl  of  Nantucket.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
In  the  Cheering-Up  Business.     i6mo,  $1.25. 


OVERDUE. 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CD52D177145 


297222 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAIvIFORNIA  IvIBRARY 


